


Stateless

by TheWinterComet



Series: Second Chance [2]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon Colosseum & XD
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Continuity, Alternate Universe, Cynthia and Lance are a power couple, Dynamax (Pokemon), Dynamax is changed from canon, Established Relationship, F/M, Isshu-chihou | Unova Region (Pokemon), M/M, Married Couple, Mystery, Oore-chihou | Orre Region (Pokemon), Original Settings, POV Alternating, Political Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWinterComet/pseuds/TheWinterComet
Summary: The present’s fragile peace rests in the wounds of the past. When Cynthia and Lance are summoned to replace Alder in a peace summit between Unova and Orre, they face the impossible task of urging the Regions towards reconciliation. However, the crimes of decades past are not forgotten, and not everyone is willing to take a step forward. All the while, Cynthia's personal research leads her down a dangerous path.
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Original Male Character(s), Shirona | Cynthia/Wataru | Lance
Series: Second Chance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1164416
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	1. The Great Crossroads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by [ShonnaRose.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShonnaRose/pseuds/ShonnaRose)
> 
> It should be noted that this story is a sequel to my previous story, a HeartGold & SoulSilver adaptation, but was written to be standalone. You don't need to read the previous story to enjoy this.

In audience of the vibrating phone on the nightstand, Lance said, "The world's in peril again."

Cynthia was deep within the grasp of the warm covers. Mostly nude, hairs descending around her face, and with her arm nestled around him, she mumbled, "Did you tell it to fuck off?"

"It's the big man himself."

"Terminus?" she asked. They couldn't ignore the CEO of the Pokémon League. Even if he offered no punishment, the principle squeezed her heart enough to pop. She turned over on her back and gazed upward, arm hanging from the bed. A deathly chill numbed her palm without his warmth against her.

A few centimeters in front of her face, the universe faded. They floated their bed through the sea of night, relying on each other not to lose their way. It was hours before any rays would grace them, not that they didn't have blackout curtains and tinted windows in their vacation home. It was just them. Them and the rotating guard permanently stationed outside.

"Can it wait until morning?" she asked.

"Says the event already started," he said after checking his phone. She cursed the few moments of piercing light. "It's that thing with Orre and Unova. The, um… the thing. That one."

"Right." She paused. "That thing. Where's Alder?"

They lapsed into an extended silence, and she hoped her husband had slipped away into the abyss. She could have drifted off herself and played stupid. Terminus would buy that, wouldn't he? But Lance decided, regrettably, to stay alive. "Something about hip surgery."

"Geezer," she said.

"Stone's coming too."

"That's good. I haven't talked to him since the World Trial." She turned back towards her husband and slipped her arm around his back. Returning the gesture, he pulled her close, sharing the warmth of their bodies. Her fingers appraised his firm muscles. She inhaled the familiar aroma of him, of them. She said, "Let's sleep a little while longer. We'll go when the guards come to get us."

"Yeah," he said. He held her tight, suffocating her, refusing to let her go. She couldn't name any better feeling.

* * *

They had their mission.

The League's dispatch briefed them on their early-morning drive to the airport. They were en route to Magnadia, a city on the border of Unova and Orre, for a week-long peace summit between the two Regions. It was supposed to coincide with the ten-year anniversary of Orre's integration into the Pokémon League, the first time the two stood on equal ground. Cynthia and Lance were to fill in for the now-hospitalized Alder and use their presence to foster cooperation.

The messenger prattled on despite their exhaustion. Well, _her_ exhaustion. Lance had an uncanny, perpetual vitality that made her occasionally consider learning the occult to steal. The security detail led them out of the car, onto the private airstrip, and up the stairs to a waiting plane.

She stopped short to view the city. Its rainbow architecture wasn't visible before the sun rose. The barest hints of early morning hung behind the skyline, a gentle reminder of the limited time she could spend with her family. Most of her business on the Grand Axis was just that. The rare, carefree days she, her husband, and her kids could spend together never lasted. Of course, now that both her children were boarding in university, their family had become much smaller.

A guard at her rear ushered Cynthia onto the plane. The official League transport was layered in black marble paneling, a few rebellious white details standing out—seats, window frames, lights—within the monochrome palette. She collapsed into a luxurious seat and spread her belongings across the table.

Her husband boarded moments later, followed by League officials as they continued their chat. He nodded at her as he passed, confirming that he'd deal with the remaining briefing. On assignments like this, only he was ever awake enough to do so. They entered the conference room near the back of the plane, allowing her the private courtesy of resting her head on the table. They took air shortly after.

The plane was a high-technology marvel; at its top speed, it shortened the eight hour flight to six, which may have still been enough time to doze off, but she knew she needed to mentally prepare for the upcoming day. She slipped her laptop from her messenger bag and set it up at the table, the artificial light reflecting off her face.

Her files came onscreen. _An Oral History of Johtoan Myth_ , her favorite trashy textbook, and _The False Cornerstones of Johtoan History: An Exploration Into Folk Legend_ , a relatively recent essay that fought for its publishing rights, appeared in digital format. The former was a general guide to mythological bullshit and the latter was, hopefully, her key to separating fact from speculative fiction.

She pulled up more essays online and fumbled through a dozen paywall logins to find what she needed. Articles, papers, folk songs, ancient artwork, centuries-old engravings, anything she could find on the Unown language. Once she was satisfied, she opened her notebook to where she last left off: The Ruins of Alph.

They had long puzzled her, as had the Pokémon within. The structures were assumed to be three millennia old, but even at that age, it seemed biologically impossible for the Unown's body shape to still so closely represent the markings inside—they would have developed new features, if not by selective forces then by chance mutation alone. With that in mind, there was no telling how long the structure, or the Unown, had remained unburdened by passage of time.

She jotted down a few lines in an online document and rambled additional, less scholarly points in her notebook. Cynthia felt herself drawn from sleep already, her blood pumping into overdrive at the thought of a new discovery. She added coffee—one sugar from black—to the mixture, served fresh by a steward.

What truly interested her about the Ruins of Alph, however, wasn't the paradox of its own existence. It was who might else be interested in its secrets.

She retrieved a log on her computer, listing every party, organization, and individual who had accessed the site in the past half-decade. The information was a favor from an old friend in the Johto Heritage Foundation, and if anyone asked, she'd certainly not know what they were talking about.

The Ruins were open to the public four days a week, and the remaining three were regularly reserved by educational institutions. A rotating guard was on duty at all times. Aside from administrative closings, this pattern was undisturbed for years. Except, there was one week the previous April where the Ruins of Alph were not only closed to the public for bookkeeping purposes, but where an entire day was mysteriously unstaffed. It was the first time the site was unmanned in over sixty years.

Someone had disrupted the scheduling for their own ends and took to snooping inside. She was only made aware by an oblivious teenager who'd wandered on site with his friends the same day. Normally she'd write the unknown perpetrator off as just that—teenage antics. But if the JHF, one of the most well-revered organizations in Johto, had been hacked without their knowledge, there had to be something there that would attract a powerful individual or group with the means to do so. There had to be.

She slammed shut her laptop when the conference room door opened. Scrambling, she shoved as much of her material back into her bag as she could. A few papers remained obscured beneath her laptop.

Lance strode towards her, already wearing his cloak and armored elements. No matter how tacky she thought it was, she could never convince him to abandon the traditional regalia of his home. He closed in, casting his ominous shadow, his regal form engulfing her entire line of sight. He pecked her on the forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"Aside from wanting to stab my one working ovary, I'm just trying to stay awake," she said, immediately reeling into a yawn. It was sent back whence it came with the burn of more coffee down her throat. "Will you give me the rundown?"

"According to the official report, the summit was delayed from earlier this year due to Orran protests. The Unovan government refused to go forward until it felt safe, so the event missed the tenth anniversary. It tells us what to expect out of both sides." He took a seat opposite her and found resistance from the breadth of his outfit. The cloak snagged on the chair, and his pauldrons barely fit within its form-fitting shape, causing him to curse under his breath. "We're taking Alder's duties. Keep them from killing each other."

"So, boring conferences? Joy," she said.

"And battles. I'm on deck for the first big event."

"Won't Orre be outraged that Unova's Champion himself isn't answering their demands?"

"Possibly," Lance answered, "but the League isn't hearing complaints. Our job is going to be harder than his and we must accept it."

He explained their mission further. It wasn't just a political conference, though that was its major goal. The public was free to attend the various panels, events, and parties thrown in celebration of ten years of "cooperation" between the two Regions. They were even hosting some exhibition Pokémon battles to hype up the crowd in support of the summit. Though the convention center had opened the previous day, it was mostly for walk-in admissions, testing event spaces, and other preparatory purposes. Today would be the opening ceremony.

Lance lifted the window shield to witness the dawn sky. High in the clouds, they could see a rising sun earlier than those on the ground.

She and her husband weren't just any Champions, which is why only they were qualified to substitute for the Unovan mission. They were global icons. Through years of public service their role had expanded beyond their Regions, and now they were responsible for holding the planet on their shoulders. Ironic, as neither of them had ever claimed the formal title of World Champion. Terminus thought it was better that way.

"When did we last visit Magnadia?" she asked, eyes fixed to the rhythmic gray haze that separated their craft from the ocean. The storm was slowly being left behind.

"Last?"

"You know, the last time we…" Her trailing off earned a sideways glance from him. "Wow! I guess we haven't. There aren't many major cities we can say that about."

"It hasn't been 'major' until the last couple years. The League seemed happy when it was just a buffer town, but it's become more and more attractive in the past decade. It appeals to hobbies. Like gambling. And drinking."

"Hobbies," she echoed.

"We've had those days."

Her eyes glanced to him a moment before returning to the window. She nursed her coffee. "That we have."

A voice came over the speaker and announced that they had reached cruising altitude. The droning voice was almost a comfort—she could recite the memorized update, clearing all passengers to remove their seatbelts and move freely about the cabin. She and her husband leveled accusatory stares at each other.

"Yes, you can take off your seatbelt now. It's _safe,"_ he said, with raised eyebrows and a devious grin.

"As if you've ever worn one in your life. We wouldn't want it to get in the way of your cape."

"It's a cloak," he insisted.

"Sure it is, honey. I'll just be over here in regular, fashionable clothes. It helps me appeal everyone who isn't a deranged billionaire." She motioned to her outfit, currently just a long-sleeved shirt and highwaters. "Anything else I should know about the trip?"

"Wear a vest," he said.

"I brought a coat. I think it's a complete image already."

He suddenly shifted his demeanor, that playfulness having evaporated. He said, "Different kind of vest."

She nodded solemnly. They weren't going to take any risks, especially because their presence had made the summit substantially more high-profile. Security would be tighter. Precautions would be stricter. But no matter what, they were going to create peace.

Cynthia moved to collect her belongings, as she still needed to fix herself up in the bathroom. She'd barely had time to put herself together before they shipped out aside from a quick shower and exchanging a tampon. Her hair was a mess. Greasy, ends split, and probably full of bed lint. And she wanted to douse herself in foundation, or she'd lose the ongoing war with the wrinkles in her cheeks.

When she picked up her laptop, a paper slipped from underneath and gently floated to the floor of the plane. Lance reached out, grabbed the edge in his fingers, and brought it back to the table. She froze. Words caught in her throat as he scanned the paper, more out of habit than an intentional invasion of privacy.

He stood and dumped the paper on the table. "We talked about this."

It was a simple sketch page, where she'd drawn the various Unown symbols and racked up endless, rambling notes about their significance. She also recorded the few passages that she and colleagues had fully translated.

The Ruins of Alph had eluded her for years and not because she lacked the ability. She was one of the most distinguished minds in her field, and where she fell short, she had friends and colleagues that could pick up her slack. No, the opponent to her research stood right in front of her.

He said, "You're breaking a promise."

"I'm doing what needs to be done. You know that something's wrong and you're comfortable sitting on it."

"I'm not 'sitting' on anything. I've been in dialogues with my clan for almost a year to locate the perpetrator. I know more than anyone how important this is." He crossed his arms behind his back, his form completely obscured beneath the cloak. Rarely did he take this authority with her, and she despised it. She wasn't his underling.

"It's obviously not important enough to tell me," she said. "We're a team _._ You've been ignoring that."

"You hate the idea that I know more than you."

"Maybe I do. Or maybe I just want to know what's so important about your _cult_ and those ruins so that I can help you protect them!" Her sudden anger uprooted his calm demeanor, but his face quickly returned to a stone glare. She kept up her assault. Her accent, normally held back after years of global travel, started to overpower her words. "This is what I do, Lance. In my field, we share why ancient artifacts are precious, and then we commit all our resources to their safety. If the Ruins of Alph are so important, you should let people know. You should let _me_ know."

"No, I shouldn't."

"And why shouldn't you?" She slammed her hands on the table, hard enough to make him flinch.

"I just—" Her husband paused, an argument building, before he suddenly came to a decision. He let out a breath, and she watched him visibly deflate. The argument was over. "It's not about protecting the ruins. It's about protecting you. I've said before that this is dangerous, and for so many more people than you realize. I'm sorry I can't say more."

He left her to her devices and turned on his heel towards the cabins. Though he didn't press further, his judgement was clear, and Cynthia could do nothing but grit her teeth and silently pack up the remaining materials into her bag.

The further an incredible truth lied, the stronger its pull. As Champion of Sinnoh, and as a scientific and academic expert, Cynthia would forever pursue it. She knew some who strayed from the truth. She'd even met one who wished to recreate it. The longer they, and the world, bathed their wounds with lies, the longer it would take them to heal.

* * *

A sea of reporters flashed their cameras as they descended from the plane, barely held back by confused event security. Cynthia narrowed her eyes at the line of reporters scrambling for their next big headline. This was a private terminal. How had they gotten permission?

She didn't need to answer that. It's not like they ever asked.

Cynthia's partner towered over her left shoulder, having just been released from her travel capsule. The Garchomp flexed her spines and razor-edged claws in warning. She shielded her Trainer with a fin and Cynthia eyed the crowd warily over the forelimb.

"Stand down, Kiki. I'll be fine," she said.

The rumble in her Pokémon's chest transferred to the ground below. Kiki backed off slowly and awaited the arrival of her teammates. The crew unloading the plane retrieved the rest of their capsules from the hold—Poké Balls were deactivated before flight to prevent any unnecessary mishaps and reloaded upon return to the disembarking passenger. A worker approached her with a tablet.

"Okay, just making sure I've got the right ones here. First is Spiritomb, named, err, 'Jeeb-ah-koo-ray?'" She raised an eye at the name and looked to her for confirmation.

"Jibakurei. I call him Jeb," Cynthia said, earning a nod in return.

"Nebros?"

"Boss. Roserade."

The worker did everything in her power to suppress the giggle in her throat. She reddened while reading out the remaining names. "Toyotama the Milotic, Glaukopis the Togekiss, and… oh boy. I'm not even gonna try that last one."

"Princess, Opie, and Rick. Orichalkos." She took the capsules off her hands as she finished reactivating them. "Thank you."

The woman stepped away and Cynthia released the remainder of her team. Rick, her Lucario, stood proud on his powerful hind legs, his fur far bushier than the average member of his species. In his arms he held an eerie carved stone. Jeb had been consciously active shortly before boarding the plane, but in the face of the crowd, he'd tucked himself away and only offered an agitated shake every few seconds.

Taking up more space than her peers, Princess cooed softly in wait. The Miltoic tested the damp morning air with her antennae and fanned herself—and the Roserade lounging on her head crest—using her tail, as the summer heat was building. Boss swatted away one of the antennae with his orange bouquet and the Milotic hissed at the minor transfer of toxin. Her final Pokémon, Opie, showed off his beautiful coat to the cameras, occasionally switching poses to give the media a better look.

Lance had his duo of young Dragonite and their emerald-scaled leader at the ready. However, his remaining three Pokemon were tucked away for space, as his combined team was far larger than her own. Together they were an impressive, dangerous, intimidating sight, some of the planet's most distinguished and powerful Pokémon at their backs.

The line was broken. The poor security was tramped when a single reporter rudely pushed forward, prompting every other to charge into battle. Cynthia's Pokémon readied for a fight; Kiki brandished her claws, Princess coiled her tail, Rick dropped to a combat stance.

The reporters encircled her husband. Even in the presence of three Dragonite, they pushed microphones to his face and fired their questions like an artillery barrage. Meanwhile, Cynthia stood with crossed arms, as not a single one was presented to her.

"Agh!" Her husband was mauled by the overwhelming crowd. He yelped, "Why do they only ever do this to me?"

"They know better," she said. She stepped past, coat flaring behind her and her Pokémon in tow.

According to her Pokétch, it was 8:15, only three hours later than their departure due to the timezone change. She shot back, "We only have a short walk to the convention center, and we need to be there before nine."

"H-help…" His voice faded as the paparazzi strangled his life from him.

With a dismissive glance, Cynthia strode across the airfield with her Pokémon. A path had been cleared in advance. Beyond the gate of the airfield, guards lined the route to the convention center, staring down the crowd across steel barriers. Her heels clicked across the red carpet, laid across the blocks towards the convention center, all in service of the greatest Champions the world had ever known. She kept up a smile, held out a wave, and embraced the deafening cheers.

Magnadia had earned its title as The Great Crossroads by being the worst piece of real estate on the continent. No one with half a brain would willingly live so far from necessary resources. It wasn't near any water sources, requiring regular shipments from a Unovan reservoir. It had no energy, necessitating a monstrous power grid from every available source that, if it encountered an unnatural surge, could turn the entire city dark for days. No matter its shortcomings, it quickly became a waystation for travel between the two Regions, plus Fiore to the south. If you wanted to transport cargo through the Orran desert, you had to stop here.

She stepped warily underneath scaffolding that barely held an incomplete building together. All around the downtown area, other buildings were in similar condition. The city was a popup town of the modern era. Entrepreneurs erected monuments to steal their place in history, dotting the skyline with hollow shells.

She'd read about the city and seen news of its growth, but she hadn't expected its piecemeal reality. Workers dangled overhead in suspension gear. The full crews worked fast and repositioned quickly, each component drilled, welded, and hammered one step closer to perfection. However, almost all of them could spare a break to cheer when they realized who walked underneath.

The citizens couldn't get enough. She'd never before visited this wild west and yet they treated her like royalty. The crowd rose and fell with her passage, leaving dejected fans behind and warming those ahead with anticipation.

A message stood out from the crowd. One young woman held up her black sign with  
"11/11" scratched in white. Cynthia stopped a moment, eyes lingering on the sign, before a guard signaled her to keep moving

The convention center grew from the dirt. Compared to the Grand Arena that held the World Trial, it was a mockery of an event space. Its panels snapped at odd angles and terminated at random, as if the architect sought modern abstraction yet found utter chaos. Much of the building was layered with twenty-five-meter glass windows, a few shattered, taped with fabric, and awaiting replacement.

"Look who decided to show her face." The smug voice drew her forward, even amongst the exploding audience.

Standing at the main door to the convention center was her peer, her equal, and her friend. Steven Stone flashed a cocky smile. He was done up in a fine suit, his steel-blue hair a little more combed than usual. He threw out his arms and pulled her into a hug.

"Keeping well?" she asked, tuning out the legions of people around them.

"As I can be," he said, "though I've been distracted by some new research. The board's incensed that I'm missing meetings."

"New research? We're two of a kind."

Behind him, two large men in nondescript gear stood with their arms crossed. Rather than being provided by the Pokémon League, Stone's security was from his very own Devon Corporation. A regular partner but not quite subsidiary to the League, Devon had a lot of autonomy even in official events like this, so long as it maintained stable production of goods and didn't get on the League's bad side. Stone probably trusted his own men more than those provided at random, and she trusted his judgement as an employer.

"We're hugging too long. People might start to talk," he said, though he didn't seem keen on letting go.

"I'm married, Stone. And I have fifteen years on you."

"You can never be too certain."

They separated and waved at the rally, prompting another round of cheers and jeers. Stone ordered his security to prepare to move out. They'd be their shield as they navigated the roaming public. Her husband and his Dragonite finally caught up, having shaken the paparazzi sometime ahead of the convention center, and he nodded to the Hoenn Champion.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Stone," he said.

The events of a month ago were no doubt fresh in their mind. A one-sided battle this past World Trial, locking him out of the finals yet again. Even a year later, the wound still stung. When Lance offered a shake, Stone kept his to himself and said, "Mr. Stone was my father."

Cynthia shot a disdainful look at her husband. They weren't given time to dwell, as their security swung open the doors to the center and the three Champions were brought forward into the grand atrium.

The morning sunlight rocketed down the high walls and cast alight the endless tiled floor. Flowing oceans of visitors dashed across her vision to the nearest attraction. The wafting scents of pop-up food vendors, blending the fiery cuisine of the Orran deserts with the hearty cooking of the Unovan heartlands, pulled in every visitor. Not one went without a full basket as they explored the convention center. The tang of alcohol on the collective breath danced with the appetizing fumes. Two stages had been erected for live music, drowning the party goers in their cacophony.

She, Lance, and Stone quickly became the newest source of fascination, as the interior crowd was overcome with a wave of gasps. Cynthia heard a speaker boom overhead. " _Ladies and gentlemen, we humbly welcome... our Champions!"_

Cynthia had the world's attention. She aimed a fist to the sky. Her Pokémon followed the gesture, each throwing up something, be it paw, bouquet, wing, tail, or claw, to challenge the heavens. Lance and Stone struck their own poses. Together, they incited an explosion. The center was rocked with the excitement of their arrival until her eardrums bled. Cell phones, X-Transceivers, and other personal cameras flashed as convention goers rushed for pictures, held back only by the men in black and the army of Pokémon at their back.

And then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped. The public dispersed, leaving Stone's security in breathless heaps but otherwise in good shape. Cynthia was shocked. Unlike reporters with employment on the line, random masses were never this easy.

Looking around, she realized why they didn't hold the attendees' focus. They had anything and everything to keep themselves occupied. Games for children. More immoral games for adults. Merchandise stands beckoned over families with the promise that every other vendor was a swindler and only they had genuine wares. Kiosk for event tickets spawned lines to the walls of the building, no doubt due to the massive banner hanging atop.

"Dynamax?" Cynthia asked. "I thought the briefing mentioned standard singles."

Lance stepped past them, staring at the decorations. Posters aside the banner illustrated the giant-sized phenomenon and stated that the first Dynamax battle began at 9:00 sharp. "It did. What is this about?"

"The League called in some representatives from Galar to give the summit extra kick, as it were. This center was only completed in the past year or so, so it's probably the first on the continent that's outfitted for DMS." Stone urged them along as he explained, his guards parting the crowd to allow them to pass. Most gave them a wide berth at the sight of the Pokémon anyway, especially due to Kiki's protective waving of her claws. He continued, "Mr. Masuta's on for 0900."

Cynthia examined the crowd again as they moved. The more she focused, the more details sprung up. A Unovan family kicked a dropped basket of food rather than help the Orran woman clean up her mess. The long lines had imperceptibly longer spaces between those of different nationality, which is why they pushed the limits of the convention center's available space. The two live bands were of opposing descent, and when one screamed, the other screamed louder. Some "11/11" signs were hidden amongst the populous, and she witnessed a guard accost an Orran to put his away. Buried under the air of festivity was decades of unfortunate history.

No matter how confidently she carried herself, the unspoken tension held in her mind, and for one reason alone. Orran citizens didn't own Pokémon. Their Region was a battle-scarred desert, even more scarce in fauna than the neighboring Fiore, which is why a team such as hers was a captivating sight.

Orre couldn't rely on Pokémon Rangers for public safety. It didn't have the resources to import creatures for every citizen in need. Its citizens were alone to solve their problems, and as a result, one of its laws, retained from its time as an independent nation, was unique among the Regions.

It was legal for Orran citizens to own firearms.

They weren't authorized at the summit, obviously, and the legions of security were there to enforce it. They stood at every door and patted down attendees at every checkpoint. Every procedure was in place to prevent a dangerous item slipping through the cracks, but with some of the world's most important people present, she couldn't put herself at ease. Cynthia felt the weight of the heavy synthetic fiber hidden beneath her shirt.

Stone led them down a flight of stairs, where the light faded into a dim artificial glow. The network of technical staff raced through them. Compared to the public's unrestrained chaos, the coordinated movement of the convention staff was even more strangling—Stone's guards had to deflect the single-minded employees beelining towards their destinations, too deep in their own head to realize who they were in the presence of. The confined space prompted her to retrieve five of her Poké Balls. Her team seemed saddened, but she assured them that the next time they emerged from stasis, they'd be having fun. Only Kiki, her partner, remained active. They arrived at a nexus of multiple paths.

" _Incoming!_ " A youthful voice echoed through the halls, punctuated by a bellow. Cynthia felt the wind pick up. The employees screamed in terror. Down one hall of the underbelly, a flaming meteor headed their way.

It was a Charizard, wings tucked, rocketing forward at blinding speeds. The various technicians scrambled to clear the hall or ducked underneath the trail of fire birthed from the creature's snout. The entire hall came alight as it sprinkled embers in its wake. Stone shouted, "Everybody out of the way!"

He and his security sprinted as far away as possible, but Cynthia and Lance held their ground. It was closing in. Seventy-five meters. Fifty. Twenty-five. Fifteen. Ten.

Suddenly, the Charizard dissipated. Its body was overtaken by neon and its form evaporated mid-air, sent as data to its storage capsule in the blink of an eye. However, the Trainer aboard retained the momentum of flight. Cynthia stepped back when his target became clear, and she watched as Lance planted his feet, held out his palms, and grinned.

The flying Trainer collided with her husband at one-hundred kilometers an hour. The impact was transferred into her husband's muscular frame, and with nowhere else to go, it fired downwards through his feet. The floor cracked. His ankles sunk into the splintered concrete, and the force of the outward motion would have swept her off her feet if Kiki hadn't supported her with an outstretched arm. She thanked her partner and brushed herself off.

Cynthia finally got a good look at the young man. His purple hair was tucked behind a cap, he rocked shorts and tights, and he had fashioned a cape out of what she assumed was a fleece blanket. It was hideous.

The young man shouted, "Hiya, Uncle!"

"Leon!" Lance was more alight than she'd seen in a long time. He hoisted the younger Trainer—dislodging his feet from the cracked ground—and spun him in wide circles before setting him gently on his feet. The two sized each other up with crossed arms.

"Who is this?" Cynthia asked as she stepped over the debris. She was shaken but more than a little intrigued. "I don't think I'm familiar."

"Hadn't you met? No wait, you've never gone to Galar with me."

"Too warm," she said.

"Everywhere is too warm for you." He slid his arm around the boy's shoulder and pulled him into a sideways embrace. "This is Dandelion Tarak. I met him when I trained in Hammerlocke for my first few World Trials."

She knew _of_ him but hadn't ever seen him in person. He was the Champion of Galar, appointed just last year. He was some twenty years their junior, so he would have been extremely young when her husband started his World Trial bids.

The Galarian Champion approached her, chipper as can be, and put out a gloved hand. She examined his outfit yet again—it was plastered with advertisements and sponsorships. He said, "Jolly to meet you, Auntie Cynthia."

"Auntie?" Her eyes flicked to her husband. He shrugged.

"My mate Raihan's dad is basically my dad too. And Raihan's dad is some relative of Lance, so if we're being true, he's my uncle," explained the kid. He wiggled his fingers and she shook the hand after a few more seconds of hesitation. He said, "Call me Leon."

"Erm, it's a pleasure, Leon."

"Sure is!" His sudden burst had her taken aback. "Uncle, you wouldn't believe the stuff we have cooking for this event. It's gonna be a Champion time."

He reminded her of Saber, her own son. He carried that same boundless enthusiasm and similarly made a huge impact in conversation. It made sense, she supposed, as her husband had raised both.

Just when things had finally settled, thunderous footsteps echoed down the hall that Leon had launched himself down. Another young Galarian man, this one done up in slacks, a vest, and thin glasses, walked straight to Leon and pointed an accusatory finger. He carried a large scheduling book under his opposite arm.

"This is unacceptable. This wasn't in the memo. You're going to jeopardize this whole summit because you're a total bellend." He sounded more like a middle-aged parent than the young man he was, and all it did was make Leon smile wider. "Don't give me that grin. Stick. To. The. Script."

'Don't be a spoilsport, man. It's my uncle _._ He's the coolest _,"_ Leon said with his palms resting on the back of his head.

"And _you_ are the Champion of Galar with an image on the you keep doing this the Pokémon League is going to reprimand us both!"

Leon turned back to them amidst the verbal barrage, which only made the attacker fume. He placed his hands on his hips and spoke over the harsh words. "So yeah, anyway, this is Geralt. He's my agent. The Galar League has this whole protocol for my public appearances, and I never get to decide _anything._ I feel like I'm in a boy band."

"—and you've probably already cost the city one-hundred thousand Pokédollars in damage. Not to mention, you weren't authorized to use your Pokémon in public yet. It could cause a disturbance!" Geralt continued his beratement without so much as taking a breath. His face was already red with fury, but Cynthia assumed the lack of oxygen was deepening the color.

The solution Leon offered didn't help him breathe, but it did shut him up. The Champion grabbed Geralt by the hand, pulled him close, and sealed his lips with his own. Immediately, the agent's fury evaporated, melting into the kiss, as if all past transgressions were momentarily void. Cynthia couldn't help but chuckle.

When Leon pulled away, shit-eating grin plastered on his smug face, Geralt said with dusted cheeks, "This doesn't change anything. We have to be on our best behavior."

"The battle's on shortly. Do you need me somewhere specific to prepare the Dynamax equipment?" asked Lance.

"Man, you guys are all business," said Leon, who pulled on Lance's arm to get him to follow, leading him towards one of the many intersecting hallways. "We have to get you to the stadium control room. Sorry to pull him away, Auntie!"

"You're going the wrong way," said Geralt.

"That I am." Leon spun one-eighty on his heels and dragged his adopted uncle past the group. Lance shot her a knowing glance but allowed the younger Champion to lead him along.

"Still wrong." Geralt tapped his foot and checked his watch.

After another turn, Leon finally chose the right hallway, and he, his agent, and Lance disappeared to parts unknown. Cynthia shouted for them to stay safe, and her husband pointed a backwards thumb towards the three lumbering beasts on his tail. He made a fair point.

In her periphery, she noticed Stone collecting himself alongside his guards, who reunited with them in the center of the floor. His formerly combed hair was a complete disaster after throwing himself to the concrete.

"Hm. That was certainly fun," he said.

"If Lance is on duty for the first event battle, what have we left to do?" she asked.

She noticed a short moment of relief at the first part of her statement before he jumped off her second. Due to the hasty replacement, they didn't have as clear responsibilities as similar events, so they were working off word of mouth. "I was informed that we're meeting the Orran mission ahead of official proceedings. To break the ice, perhaps."

"Then, onward!" she said. She checked the fasteners on her coat and adjusted the bulletproof armor beneath. "It's time we made our first impression."

* * *

The upper floors of the center were reserved for the political facets of the summit. She and Stone were drawn into a gorgeous meeting room. A u-shaped conference table sat in the center, surrounded by various seating sections for press and honored guests. She placed a hand on one of the chairs. From material feel alone, she knew it was worth several hundred thousand.

Light filtered in from a glass wall. She stepped up and stared outside, where she realized they were situated at the upper edge of the convention center's open stadium. It looked like a typical sports arena, but with mechanical spires of unknown purpose around its perimeter. Layered sections crawled up the walls to cram as many people as possible into the limited space. Top to bottom, every seat was filled. It was a familiar, though always nerve wracking, sight.

A purposeful cough drew her eye, and she was reminded of why she came. Both diplomatic missions sat in wait around the conference table. The Unovan viceroy, four members of his council, the mayors of Opelucid and Castelia, and a few additional diplomats made up her adopted cause. She nodded to Drayden—her only acquaintance among them—and the grizzled man returned the gesture. Opposite them were a legion of men and women she didn't recognize. None sported formal wear, and if it wasn't a sign of protest, it told of Orre's philosophy. The task was addressing grievances from the Orran _people_ , so they had sent their finest citizens instead of top-down bureaucrats.

She only recognized a single person: Professor Krane, a shaggy-looking bio-technology laureate. She'd met him briefly at an academic honors convention, where he was presented a high award for his research into a mysterious disease afflicting trained Pokémon. Their eyes met, but he quickly decided the table was more interesting.

The rest were new faces. One stood from the table and approached her. He was a spitting image of the Orran population. Sun-bleached hair, sharp eyes, tawny skin. He was set apart, however, by a strange white streak outlining his nose and cheekbones.

"So, you're Mrs. Masuta," the man said. "I can't believe the League thinks throwing more pets in the ring is going to butter us up."

"It's Dr. Masuta, please," said Cynthia.

She let his annoyed gaze size her up, judging her level of threat. Some struck nerve urged her to be hostile, if only to teach this child who exactly he was dealing with, but she decompressed when she saw the viceroy looking her way. Unova's finest were trusting her with their Region.

She offered a hand to shake. He took it and squeezed. Hard.

"I think I would've preferred the old man. He had more gut than you," he said. The Orran camp behind her, though party to his introduction, didn't act. They silently condoned the caustic treatment, even Krane, whose head hadn't moved since she met his eye. Sitting at opposite sides of the table, the two groups couldn't have been further apart.

Cynthia was fired up. It wasn't often that someone had the gall to approach her this way. It wasn't awestricken fear, nor was it rabid appreciation. This was a rare challenge. As Champion, she felt obligated to take it on. "You haven't introduced yourself."

"Wes." One word, dripping with dismissiveness.

"Just Wes?" she asked.

He brushed her off and took Stone's hand in a similar manner. The younger Champion stayed calm and greeted him with a smile. Wes said, "You're the corporate shill."

"Steven Stone, CEO of Devon. Pleased to make your acquaintance." He seemed content to leave out that he, too, had a doctorate. The heavy metal rings on Stone's index and ring fingers must have been uncomfortable, as Wes dropped the handshake quickly. The Hoenn Champion shot her knowing look. He said, "I've heard whispers of you."

"I didn't think you cared."

He countered the man quickly. "You've become a local hero around Orre for fighting organized crime, especially by using their Pokémon-stealing technology against them. You'd be Champion material once your League solidifies the position."

Judging by the others among the Orran mission, Wes was already the closest they had to a Champion, a figurehead to represent his people. He was their equal, and no matter her opinion of him, Cynthia was bound by the League to entertain his vision of peace.

He backed away, slightly, and frowned between them both. "I'm not one of the League's pawns. Keep that in mind."

"Of course, sir," said Stone.

The honorific drove the boy even further off his fragile rail. He shoved his way over to his seat and slumped down, turning to face the window. He looked at the wall clock. The hour hand clicked into place.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, it has been ten years. We come together today, as we have for the past decade, to set apart differences,"_ began a thundering voice through the window glass. The other representatives in the room rose from their seats and shuffled to the balcony through a sliding door

Cynthia stepped out to the fence. The sun was riding higher and bringing with it the heavy atmosphere of late summer. Stone stepped up next to her and rested his forearms over the edge, a smile on his face. He nudged her elbow with his.

" _We stand here in memory of past tragedy, and in pursuit of justice that is not yet fulfilled."_ The voice continued from on high, and Cynthia narrowed her eyes to the speaker standing hundreds of meters below on the astroturf. She was a young Orran woman, her reddish hair tied up into a long ponytail. Shortly after her speech began, her face was broadcast on the multitude of giant screens outlining the stadium. " _I ask you to join me for a few moments of silence. For those lost fifty years ago. For a people struggling to rebuild. For a culture forever changed."_

Her words entranced the audience, and on her cue, the stadium was still. It was clear which side the words held for. The woman, though vaguely, spoke of November 11th. Cynthia herself put her head down in mourning for the people of Orre, who had faced hardship after hardship since the Coalition War. There were no whispers or jeers in the stands. The only voice was behind her.

"She's naive. Words alone won't change anything," whispered Wes from inside, still stuck to his chair. He wouldn't be party to the ceremony.

The woman raised her head after the extended calm and held the microphone to her cheerful face. " _But we aren't here only to mourn. This event is a celebration of our progress. We will be optimistic for our future, and have fun in the present, because joy is our final goal. We open today with a high energy event, a wonderful contribution from the Galarian Pokémon League."_

At the end of her speech, the stadium floor hissed. Flows of smoke seeped from the ground and engulfed the woman in a cloud of white. Cynthia tensed in anticipation. The unknown structures pulsed with light beneath their surface. The voice of the crowd rose higher and higher.

When the smoke cleared, the summit officially commenced.

* * *

Except for the light seeping from beneath them and the giant neon countdown, the control room was pitch black. Humming machines lined the walls and floor, only a few grated walkways available to stand on. Lance adjusted his ear mic while urging his partner Dragonite, Uesugi, not to dislodge the receiver. He kept his eyes on the digits. Eighty seconds.

His partner groaned under the weight of the equipment. The heavy exoskeleton added 75 kilograms, and it was clear even his muscled frame strained under the weight. Every part of his body, from head to limbs to wings, was engulfed under wires, sensors, and hard metal. A "DMS" label was etched in white on various pieces, elaborated as "Dynamic Maximization System" in smaller font underneath. Opposite on the same platform, Leon's Charizard wore its own personal death trap.

"Sorry if it's nettling, dear." An old Galarian woman, Magnolia, pulled hard on her wrench to tighten one final joint, causing the Dragonite to roar. Despite the nature of the work, she sported no more than a sundress and a jeweled necklace. After adjusting controls on a nearby panel, she said, "All the components are in place. My apologies for riding up to the deadline, but only some of the pieces I had reserved for Mr. Adeku's Druddigon were usable. Adjusting my components for different body shapes takes time."

"You all finished over there, Bev?" called Leon. "It's forty-five to launch."

"Don't be snappy with me, mister. I can read," she said with her wrench aimed threateningly in Leon's direction. "And you, Mr. Masuta. Are you prepared?"

"Affirmative," he said. A novice to this technology, he couldn't hide that the mechanical monstrosity unnerved him. However, his partner was a sturdy creature and Lance was determined to give the audience an event they deserved. They'd feel the true power of Indigo's Champion even bound by the limitations of this invention.

"Get into position," ordered Magnolia. She stepped into a reinforced box and punched a few more controls.

Lance and Leon stepped away from the central platform, footsteps echoing on the metal, and stood on their personal pedestals. A siren blared, red lights flashed, and caged walls raised on four sides around the Pokémon. The countdown hit fifteen.

"See you topside, Uncle! They're gonna love this." Leon's voice bounced around the control room.

At ten, the pedestal lurched. The hydraulics shoved Lance toward the heavens and left his Pokémon behind. The doors above creaked open, bombarding him with the energy from the stands. He rose into a field of smoke, and when the foothold clicked into place, it was suddenly whisked away. The crowd erupted in cheers when he and Leon were revealed on opposite sides of the battlefield.

" _For our opening event, we present the newest phenomenon in battling entertainment! This. Is. Dynamax!"_ A male announcer bellowed from above. " _In the red corner, it's the kid hero! He may be the youngest champion, but he's got more heart than all his peers combined. It's Leon Tarak!"_

Leon planted his legs, turned his head down, and thrust a hand up with his thumb, index, and middle fingers extended. Lance remembered the day Leon wandered onto his training field, not even five years old, and threw up the same sign. He claimed he would one day be Champion, just like his uncle. That pose fulfilled the promise of his younger self.

The Indigo Champion felt his chest swell with pride. Years of example, then loose tutoring, then head-to-head battling had pushed the young man to his current position. Beyond battling, Leon had proven himself as a model citizen and figurehead for his people, and Lance couldn't take that credit. This was their first fight not as mentor and trainee, but as Champion and Champion.

" _And in the blue corner, we welcome our superpowered strongman, our princely powerhouse, our living legend,"_ the voice dragged out the last pause, _"Lance Masuta!"_

His eardrums bled from the fanfare. In the eyes of the world, he and his wife were gods. A smile crept onto his face. Leon had pushed and shoved his way to a Champion position, and it was an incredible accomplishment, but he wouldn't let the boy build an ego. It was time to draw the line between Galar and the Indigo Plateau.

The arena screens flashed their faces in a "versus" graphic. The spires built into the high walls shined bright enough to blind. The massive space behind both Trainers came to life.

Using the data from the exoskeletons, the trillion-Pokedollar Dynamax system created giants. They appeared from nothing, fading into existence as the projectors laid scales on thin air. The form of his Dragonite, and of Leon's Charizard, rose past even the highest seats. The hologram even reproduced his partner's rare emerald scales—they were perfect replicas, and they towered like skyscrapers above the stadium.

The announcer let the moment linger. The sight of the massive Pokémon alone spurred the crowd into a frenzy.

The voice boomed his final line, _"Dynamax Battle... begin!"_

"Thunder Punch!" Lance gave the order through his microphone, received by his partner below.

The titanic duplicate reeled back and let fly its fist, mirroring Uesugi's true action beneath the surface. It soared overhead and collided with the opponent's cheek. The resulting explosion showered the audience in sparks. The Dynamax system not only cast the battle as a hologram but also augmented it with visual effects. The weight of the gear had a practical purpose as well; it slowed their Pokémon's movements to realistically simulate creatures of such mass. As far as the audience was concerned, real giants had come to play.

"Use Flamethrower!" ordered Leon. His giant, undeterred by the punch, opened its mouth and released a stream of flame. The entire stadium was engulfed in red. The only thing the Dynamax system missed was the heat, but judging by the screams of the crowd, it was hardly a footnote.

Lance had to respect the limits of the gear. Neither Pokémon could fly, nor could they perform complex movement befitting of Champion-level battles. Their intention was to amaze, first and foremost. "Use Dragon Tail!"

He could feel his partner straining in the gear below. The Dragonite twisted on his feet and dragged his weighted tail around himself to slap the opposing Charizard. On the surface, it translated as a grand impact, the holograms rippling with the imagined shockwave.

He was forced to pause before he could give his next order. Neither Pokémon had moved and were stuck in the position of impact, eyes locked. Lance switched his microphone to its second mode, separating his voice from the crowd. He said, "I need an update. What's going on down there?"

" _Technical difficulties."_ Magnolia's voice came through the crackling line. _"My effect systems are still working, but your Pokémon's gear shorted and isn't updating the main image. I'm ordering them to cover."_

All around them, vents hidden beneath the turf erupted with smoke and filled his eyes with white. The crowd likely couldn't see the battlefield beneath the cover. On cue, the voice came over the stadium speakers. _"And the battle is suddenly engulfed in smoke. Did Leon's Charizard use Smokescreen?"_

Lance rolled his eyes and waited for the area to clear. It was a piss-poor excuse, but for the sake of the illusion, it was probably the best they were afforded. That cursed technology wasn't reliable at all. He should have ripped it off himself and shown the crowd what a _real_ Pokémon Battle was like.

Magnolia sounded in his ear again. " _You're go to resume. I fixed the problem by hitting it really hard. Go!"_

The smoke was quickly vented by fans around the base of the arena, whose hums were barely audible among the voices of the audience. Lance flipped his microphone back to its public mode. When the giants reappeared among a cleared battlefield, they were visibly panting. Neither Pokémon would last. It was a short, explosive, beautiful brawl, and the downtime within the gear no doubt left them drained.

Leon hesitated a few moments, receiving his own orders. Their eyes locked. He smiled. "Overheat!"

"Thunder Wave!" Lance countered, throwing out his hand with the command.

His partner focused electric energy across his body. Above ground, imagined lightning rained across the battlefield. The Dragonite let fly the spark. The hologram Charizard faltered as it stored energy, joints paralyzed. It unleashed its fire.

The inferno engulfed the stands, causing yet more screams. Due to the paralysis, the discharge wasn't at its full power, and Dragonite pushed through the flames to take one gigantic step forward. This was their opening. This was their climax. This was their battle.

Lance threw out his arm and gave the command. His voice was guttural. He screamed their finishing move. _"Hyper Beam!"_

Hologram Dragonite's body shined bright enough to blind. His gaping maw focused all his power, the system's audio amplifying the charge. The sound ceased. It fired. Charizard was engulfed in pure, concentrated power.

The audience gasped and awaited the result. The lingering light of Hyper Beam slowly faded. The Fire-type Pokémon slumped forward and slowly fell. The hologram slammed to the ground while the real creature below collapsed—the replica faded from being, leaving its Trainer alone on the battlefield.

Lance switched his mic off the arena again to hide his next order from the crowd. "Roar."

His giant unleashed his fury. The crowd matched it with a roar of her own, and together they announced the victory.

The speaker boomed. " _The winner is Lance Masuta!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Magnadia! I've been ecstatic about starting this story. My goal was to bring together the series' biggest icons and give them the theatrics they deserve, while also taking a closer look at what it means to be Champion. There's a lot in store for Cynthia, Lance, Steven, and Leon.
> 
> I guess I should clarify that most characters here are tweaked somewhat from their canon counterparts due to this being an alternate continuity. Lance and Cynthia are aged up somewhat, so I wanted to see what kind of people they became after years of being global icons. I'm not entirely sure how I did, but I thought it was the right move for this specific story.
> 
> A big thanks to my beta reader, ShonnaRose, who gave feedback while I've been writing this the past month and a half. This story was really propped up by her efforts.
> 
> Next week is Chapter 2: Envoy from the West. I hope you enjoy the show!


	2. Envoy From the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia and Lance immerse themselves in the politics of the summit and prepare for a second exhibition battle later that night. A simple conference devolves, giving Cynthia the opportunity to exercise her power as Champion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by [ShonnaRose.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShonnaRose/pseuds/ShonnaRose)

Pokémon, firearms, noxious gas, nuclear warheads—there were many exciting ways to wage war, and this wasn't one of them.

The 10:00 AM conference was well underway, and it was gripped by chaotic ramblings. When the League judge struck his gavel, the debate was silenced. Positioned at the head of the u-shaped table, he exercised his providence on both diplomatic missions through his stare. "Ladies and gentlemen, order! Will the Orran party please present their grievance in a calm and rational manner?"

"Have any of you been listening? Unova still puts massive tariffs on its exports to Orre and they're our most accessible trading partner," said Wes. "It's like they're trying to starve us!"

"We need the revenue. Our economy still hasn't recovered from the collapse two years ago and we can't afford to lower them." Drayden, mayor of Opelucid, gave his account in opposition. Wes tried to speak over him, but the bearded man fought back until he drowned the Orran leader out. "My city relies on our mineral shipments and we would have been forced to lay off thousands if not for the stable trade."

"You've lowered your rates for Alola. This is selective retaliation!"

"Alola appealed to the International Pokémon League and you haven't," said a member of the Unovan council.

"Well we're appealing now!" Wes shouted, causing the overseeing representative to strike his gavel again.

Blood pumped through Cynthia's forehead and she gripped the arms of her chair. She wanted to slam her head on the table. They'd been arguing for an hour straight and the meeting was another hour, then a recess, then two more hours. She wasn't sure she could handle listening to children squabble for that long. Lance placed his hand atop hers and they sat in silence, waiting for the argument to blow over.

Her global knowledge had its limits, and the conference was a crash course on how deep the transgressions between the Regions went. Unauthorized air traffic. Accidental introduction of invasive Pokémon. Waste dumping. Neither seemed to care for unintended consequences if the other bore the harm. Everything the International Pokémon League had neglected in its top-down policy was fired like ammunition across the battleground. This summit was a special occasion for the leadership to directly compromise with their neighbors without having to funnel through the Grand Axis. If only either side would take advantage of the opportunity.

When more voices raised, the League judge shot a glare around the room and willed them to order. Apparently, the gavel was just for show. He said, "It's clear the point of local trade prices cannot be resolved. Might I remind you that, once Orre is fully incorporated into the Pokémon League, it will have a stronger presence by which to request the IPL to adjust the rates. We shall move on for now."

The judge ordered a short pause for the sake of the media. The guest seating was exhausted by every outlet on the continent looking for a scoop. Reporters transcribed the last few minutes of debate and hoped to churn out their next big hit. Wes begrudgingly conceded the last point, leaning back into his chair and crossed his arms. He looked around the room for something else to blow off steam and his attention landed on her.

"For being the League's favorite puppets, you've not put many cards on the table," he said.

"We're foreigners," replied Lance, offering a rebuttal in her place. "Our role is simply to foster cooperation. We cannot determine why your concerns are important to you."

Wes looked away. "As if the League ever cared about what we think."

"We are not the League."

Lance's answer crushed any further argument. A movement murmured among the Orran camp. Cynthia could have sworn it was Krane, but in the span of a blink, he was once again still. He was the only member of either mission who hadn't raised a point at all during deliberation.

After debate was reopened, a Unovan councilwoman took the opportunity and stood up. "I request that we address the border arrests earlier this June."

"Request granted," said the judge. "State your claim."

"On June 17th, four Unovan citizens were arrested after crossing the border in the Senwatin Mountains. They were detained by Orran militia. Our request for extradition was denied and further inquiry by the IPL is backlogged," explained the councilwoman, reading from an itemized list. Those across the table fidgeted in their seats, surrendering the badge of prosecution. Cynthia scanned the eyes among them. Some searched the room for anything besides the indictment, while others joined Krane in looking like a chastised child. The woman continued, "We demand the Orran government formally apologize and hand over the prisoners."

"Thank you. What say the Orran mission?" asked the judge.

"They're criminals," answered an Orran representative, reading from his own materials. According to the nameplate sitting in front of him, his name was Masir. "They crossed illegally and Orre is within its right to pursue justice on matters occurring in its territory."

"You have no evidence that their crossing was intentional. Your border guard made a rash decision and they've been imprisoned for a month," said Drayden. His muscles were tensed, ready to burst from his tight-fitting dress shirt and suspenders.

"It's still our decision. We're going to—"

"You will return _my citizens_ immediately." Drayden rocketed to his feet and cast his shadow over his Orran adversaries. According to Cynthia's own research of the event, two of the arrested citizens were a couple from Opelucid. His presence among the Unovan mission didn't make sense at first, but she suspected that the so-called Spartan Mayor wasn't appointed. He applied.

His outburst stunned all parties, and his authority seemed to supersede even that of the League judge. The keyboards transcribed the dramatic turn. She noticed Wes stir in his seat to challenge the assertion. This wasn't a trade dispute; this was an argument over people's lives.

Cynthia stood. She said, "Point of information."

The debate ceased on her call. Even Drayden ceded to the Champion and returned to his seat. She looked between the volatile debaters. Had they knives, or Poké Balls, or firearms hidden beneath their suits and blouses, they were seconds from being drawn.

"Your Honor, this summit allows legal proceedings to be organized for appropriate purposes, correct?" she asked.

The judge flipped through a stack of papers to review procedure. "Within reasonable convenience."

Cynthia shifted eye contact between everyone present. They waited for a miracle. "The best way to address this problem is to bring the offenders here for trial, is it not? Orre can act as prosecution, Unova as defense. According to the IPL Constitution for International Events, all relevant legal matters are directly in your hands until this summit concludes."

Murmurs argued her proposition. She kept up a powerful stare and cleared her throat of the tension. "You must see each other eye-to-eye. Both of your parties have failed to do so since the meeting began. Take the opportunity to view each other as equals, especially when your citizens are on the line."

The entire Unovan camp stared incredulously at her. She was chosen to represent them, but she wouldn't explicitly take their side. Alder would have done the same. She used a power only afforded to a Champion: the power to destroy nations, and in their place, construct a single, united people.

"How do you expect to complete this in a timely manner? We have to transport the defendants, find additional legal counsel and give them time to review the case, plus collect a jury and do all necessary filing," said Drayden.

Stone stepped back through the conference room door and she only then realized he'd been missing for the past few minutes. He held up his smartphone and shot a cocky glare her way. "I just called the Grand Axis and confirmed my company's ability to transport at behest of the state. I also have lawyers on payroll that are League qualified due to our association with the IPL. Organize with me after this conference ends and all necessary parties will be here tomorrow. For a jury, perhaps we can source from the attendees and offer compensation? For a judge, well..."

He pointed to the League judge, who rested his chin in his hand, a bemused smirk on his face. His position required years of legal experience and every qualification imaginable, making him the perfect candidate.

"That just leaves the documentation," said Cynthia. "If you're willing to join me for some impromptu meetings today and tomorrow, we can have everything sorted by Wednesday, especially with my _connections_ to Terminus himself."

Mouths hung open among the reporters, the Orrans, and the Unovans alike. The atmosphere inside the conference had shifted from warlike to curious, and the members of the missions spoke among themselves. The judge, though tasked with keeping order, let the unguided commotion pass, that smile aimed right at her.

Cynthia could hear the next big development written out by the computerized legion. She sat up straight as the photos began, hands locked on the table.

Her husband leaned over and whispered, "That's impressive and all, but you just volunteered us to do paperwork _."_

"Oh, hush. We're preventing war here," she shot back.

Stone settled in next to them to present himself to the public, and between the flashes, she beamed at him. He had her back, just as he always had. They may have not been Unova's own Champion, but the three of them could sew the world together.

As the conference came down from its high, she noticed something was wrong. The Orran mission turned back towards their opponents with displeasure written on their faces. Wes bore into her with defiance. The air in the conference room dulled, and Cynthia felt her control of the situation slipping.

The judge and the reporters focused their attention to the rebellious Orran diplomat. The former asked, "Would you like to raise a concern, sir?"

"You're idiots. All of you," said Wes. "Unova owes us justice. We aren't going to work with them until it's served."

"We don't owe you anything," growled the Unovan viceroy.

Wes sucked in a breath and searched with indignant eyes around the room. He laid down his trump card. "November 11th."

The media attacked, vaulting from their seats—despite the rules of the conference room—to throw questions at the Unovan delegates. They threatened to break the invisible barrier just like those at the airport. Unova's council looked to the judge in desperation, who said, "That's enough. We're moving to the next subject."

"Let them speak, Your Honor," said Cynthia. Wes's eyes met her, and behind his frown and furious eyes, she saw an inquisitive spark. For a moment, they weren't separated by the split table but instead were standing face to face. "They have a right to be heard."

"The topic is past, Dr. Masuta," he said. His words only reignited fury in the Orran camp. He struck his gavel and screamed for order as the reporters scrambled towards their next headline.

"You can't be serious. This conference exists to address grievances." She challenged the judge, and whatever approval he had melted off his face.

Wes gave a signal.

Every member of the Orran mission—except Krane—reached into their clothes. All notions of safety disappeared. She saw dread behind them that not even her bulletproof vest or the guards stationed at the doors or a team of world-class Pokémon could assuage.

Her vision was blocked by the massive form of her husband, who threw back her chair and planted himself, arms outstretched, between her and the Orran mission. He moved without hesitation and stood resolute. Her heart raced. She clenched her eyelids shut and braced herself.

When nothing came, she opened her eyes. Lance had stepped aside. Across the u-shaped table, the Orran camp stood with identical signs held to their chests. 11/11.

This time the cameras were unstoppable. The protest completely overshadowed the meeting and any semblance of organized debate was lost in the scramble. The Unovan council hurled insults while reporters and security surrounded the demonstrators.

"The Pokémon League will continue to deny us! Recognize November 11th!" Wes's defiance rose above the battleground.

"Get them out of here! Everyone return to your hotels!" ordered the judge. The guards seized them under his command.

One of her own assigned bodyguards roughly pulled her away as more stood between her and the revolt. She called for everyone to calm down, and for them to continue the meeting as normal, but her words were lost. Cynthia was knocked around by the swirling riot. Wes and the rest of his Orran comrades were swept from the room. The media gave chase.

When the door slammed behind them, all Cynthia could do was collapse in her seat. Her husband, Stone, and the League detail were all that remained.

The judge tugged his collar and cleared his throat. "The, uhh, the conference is suspended for the day. Thank you for your cooperation."

* * *

Behind a wooden podium on a wooden stage, Lance read wooden words passed down by the Pokémon League.

"The League is currently surveying the situation, but we cannot convey our plan of action at this current time," he said. "The media is welcome to interview summit officials for their own statements."

Lance spoke to a public panel. The room was darkened, a spotlight on him, and the only evidence of his audience's existence was the reflection of a hundred lenses in the blackness below.

None of them were satisfied with the speech. He could have written his own, but for fear of intensifying the situation, he stuck with the official statement. They could clarify once the problem was solved.

"Mr. Masuta, can you offer a position on November 11th?" pressed a reporter in the front row, her face barely revealed at the edge of the light.

Lance saw the League's muscle move as she finished her question. They stepped from the sidelines straight towards her. He raised his hand and commanded them to halt.

"We will refrain from releasing an official statement at this time," he said.

"In the past, the Pokémon League has refused to acknowledge November 11th. Has this position changed?" she asked, bolder with the knowledge that Lance would protect her.

"We will refrain from releasing an official statement at this time."

The words rang hollow the more he repeated them. More and more questions propped up, the media empowered by the temporary safety he provided. Eventually, he couldn't take any more of his own disservice and called an end to his panel, twenty-five minutes from the planned hour. He descended the platform with his head hung.

In the hall, Stone leaned against the wall, joined by his own company's hired guns and Lance's own security. An unpleasant look seized his features. "Call that a success?"

"Save it. I'm doing my job," said Lance.

"Fantastic job, then." As Lance began to walk to his next destination, Stone pushed himself off the wall to follow. Their men trailed behind. "You're not looking your best."

"I've played Chatot for the League for the past seven hours. Haven't you?"

"I've attended my own work. The League doesn't tend to call on me, since managing my company is far more important," said Stone.

Lance passed through a glass skybridge as he tracked through the building. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the massive crowd gathering outside, barely contained by event security. It was attendees and city residents alike, all of whom held their signs high. Their ranks extended far down the street. He felt his shoulders relax once his view to the outside faded.

His acquaintance leveled his own passing glance at the crowd. "I'm going to take a hit from this. We've got some production centers here, and with the roads clogged like this, a few days of product are behind schedule. This week was supposed to debut a new Poké Ball variety."

"Would you prefer to talk about _anything_ else?" Lance asked, gritting his teeth.

"Cynthia. Where is she?"

He raised a hand, causing their security to back off for a few moments. With only Stone in earshot, he said, "The League requested she refrain from public appearances until her battle tonight."

"That's not subtle," Stone answered. He shrugged and stepped away with his men in black. "Well, I have a prior engagement, so I'll leave you to whatever it is you're doing."

"I'd appreciate it," he said, dryly.

The younger Champion disappeared down another hall and allowed Lance's blood pressure to level. He checked his phone. His next destination didn't come from a League dispatch but instead a grammatically text message from Leon. When he reached the elevator, he thanked his security for their service. He scanned his staff pass to head to the basement, and when the door closed with only him inside, he let his head rest against the interior wall. Lance drank in the few moments of thoughtless rest as he watched the number count down.

Beneath the convention center, Lance followed the instructions laid out for him and tracked through the empty halls. He was far from the main nexus and only a few sparse employees dared cross his path. He entered a maintenance room labeled in massive script above the doorway.

The large facility was brightly lit and showed off the countless turbines and transformers working to keep the center operational. Lights hung overhead, descending from within the maze of pipes on the ceiling. Unlike the control room for the Dynamax System, the maintenance room was spacious, enough so to contain the makeshift workshop space set up within the heavy machinery.

"I received Leon's message!" he called into the mess of screens, monitors, gauges, generators, and cables that had been unceremoniously bolted to the floor. He said, "Lance Masuta, at your service."

A wrinkled face stood up within the mechanisms and stared him down past her low-sitting glasses. She wore a different ankle-length gown, but it was still unsuitable for her dirty work. "Good. A test subject. Let's see that shiny lizard of yours."

He raised an eyebrow at the woman. Who was she to command him? But there was a refreshing sympathy hidden beneath her rude words—she didn't lick his boots, hoping for a favor like the legions of journalists that had pestered him since the morning conference, or say "Mr. Masuta" this and "Mr. Masuta" that.

He unleashed the beast. A materialization beam leapt from his Ultra Ball, bathing the room in neon red, and constructed his partner. Uesugi faded into consciousness and scraped his claws together.

"Uesugi, thank you for your help today. I promise that we can have a real fight soon," the Champion said. He tried to soften the blow. "We're going to need to test the equipment again."

The Dragonite roared his complaint, but Lance kept himself firm within his regalia. It was impossible to tame a Dragon, but it was possible to earn its respect. Lance demanded so, and after an intense stare down, the great beast bowed his head to allow the Trainer to rub his skyward horn. Lance could feel the restlessness within. His partner rarely enjoyed showcases or sparring, and the limits of a Dynamax battle couldn't sate him. He was a creature built to lead, to fly, to fight, and Lance learned better than to contain his power for long periods of time.

Magnolia stepped over, dragging the equipment's helmet piece along the floor. He offered to help, and when he effortlessly lifted it from the floor, she stepped back and left the work to him.

She said, "I'm testing individual parts, so you needn't worry about the full weight. Lock the main straps down and twist the status dials to standby."

Lance followed her instructions until the components clicked into place on Uesugi's skull. The Dragonite snarled. Lance stepped back and waited for further instructions, of which Magnolia was uninclined to give. She fiddled with her machines for a few minutes before saying, "Let's do the gauntlets next."

And so, he proceeded with the mind numbing work, replacing the pieces of Dynamax gear one after another and standing in solidarity with his partner through the silent examination. Like with the elevator ride, it was far more satisfying than he expected to just stand around and be no one important. An hour passed in a flash and Uesugi wore the final piece of Dynamax gear: the chest plate.

"Are you finished with the test?" he called.

"Just about, dear!" Magnolia was hidden behind a wall of screens, checking the readings feeding through the chest plate. She muttered something as she slammed a fist on a panel.

"I assume it's bad news," said Lance.

"It's befuddling, truly. I don't know how it survived your battle with that ruffian, but every piece is somehow fried. I don't have enough working parts to fit your wife's Garchomp."

When she made her way back over to them, he helped the woman unlatch the helmet and set it gently to the ground. Uesugi flared his wings to their full span once he was freed of its grasp.

Lance examined the machinery on the ground, unable to pick out right from wrong. The skeleton was composed of major points connected with flexible metal supports, the inside of each adorned with sensors to read the creature held within. It was a complex monster he couldn't hope to understand. He asked, "Didn't you create this technology?"

"A leading mind, but certainly not the sole creator," she said. "And no, I can't fix it."

"Then what are our options?"

"None that would make tonight's battle. My granddaughter is shipping our reserves through the Galarian League, but they won't arrive for at least two days." The woman grabbed a rag and wiped greasy fluid from her hands. She tossed it to him to wipe his own and then sat down in a lawn chair she'd placed next to her workshop.

It was for the best that they canceled the battle. The city would probably complain—apparently the organizational committee predicted the Dynamax events to double the summit's revenue—but this technical issue was hardly their first concern. It was too dangerous to keep the convention center open to the public, and in his opinion, it was an insult to the Orrans to parade their theatrics around such heavy circumstances.

The League was foolish to think some high-profile Pokémon battles would somehow pacify the two parties. This wasn't the World Trial. It was the future of two nations at stake.

"Seems like you've made a mess of things," said Magnolia. She pulled out a tobacco pipe and set it between her fingers.

"Me?" he shot back.

"You know what I mean, boy. The League is so bent on veiling the truth that it'll tear this city in two. Are you sure you want to be part of that?" She took a drag on her pipe and rolled her neck, undeterred by the scowl he wielded.

He had no reason to stick around. Lance recalled Uesugi to his capsule and shoved it in his cloak, making his way to the maintenance room door. However, a knock came from the other side before he'd even touched the handle. It crashed open.

"Yo, Bev! We've got some good news!" It was Leon, who held his leg in a high kick. The door swung loose on its hinges after slamming into the wall.

He and his guests stepped inside. Multiple men carried large crates in their grasps. One stumbled as he passed, and Lance caught the heavy object before it could crash to the floor. The Orran man looked up at him, probably puzzled that he could hold it with one arm, and Lance recognized him as a member of the Orran mission from earlier. Masir.

"Did you need something?" he asked.

"We've got a gift. From the Orran mission," said Masir, whose hands seemed constantly in motion.

They stacked the crates in front of Magnolia. More people poured into the maintenance room to deposit their goods, many he recognized from the conference and many more who were no doubt Orran sympathizers. When they pried open the lids, the woman's expression twisted. "Where did you get these?"

"Turns out, Masir and the gang here had a ton of spare DMS components. The Battle's back on!" exclaimed Leon.

He watched Magnolia's face contort as she dug through the payload, dragging out machinery from each and laying them on the floor. They were even bulkier than the defective set and painted an awkward tan hue discolored by time. Lying heavy on the concrete, he couldn't help but eye them with suspicion. She seemed to think the same as she rolled a limb piece around in her hands.

"This is an older model my colleagues and I discarded." She tested its weight in her hands. Apparently, it passed her personal inspection, as she placed it contently back inside the crate.

Masir's scratched the back of his bare head, his free hand fidgeting. He was an unassuming person garbed in a desert poncho. "We won it at an auction a couple years ago when the Galarian League was selling off property. It seemed super exciting that we'd have a DMS stadium, uhh, nearby, and we jumped the gun. We shipped it right over the border in a few hours."

He bowed and then returned from whence he came, his crowd of followers vanishing in only a few moments. One remained. Professor Krane seemed shocked at his sudden isolation, and when Lance tilted his head, he retreated without a word, slamming the door behind him.

"Cheers. Now that I've saved the day—you're welcome, by the way—you and I have some business," Leon said, planting himself in front of the Indigo Champion. He held out a ten-gallon hat.

"We do?" he asked.

"We do!"

He glanced back at the technician, but she was already elbow deep in a crate looking through the substitute machinery. Her pipe lay smoking on a nearby table, abandoned. The day had exhausted him, but no matter what, he went where he was needed. That was the role of a Champion.

* * *

"So, what's the deal with November 11th?" he asked.

Leon tossed out the question thirty minutes through the city. He and Lance solemnly explored Magnadia, weaving through back alleys and dodging the unstable framework holding the urban landscape together. Light hung in the air when they first entered the underworld but had vanished when they emerged from the final corridor. The younger Champion led him down the street to parts unknown, and as expected, they hit dead end after dead end. Lance barely noticed that they were walking in circles.

As they turned onto another street, they noticed a gathering of people standing in the way of road traffic, flaunting black-on-white signs along with their shouts. They held close to the edge of the street to remove suspicion and both wore nondescript clothing for the trip. Lance struggled to keep his mane of red hidden beneath the loaned hat. It made him look like a hick.

"Uncle?"

Lance blinked and shook his head. "My apologies. Could you repeat your question?"

"November 11th. I heard what happened at the conference, and there's all these demonstrators around," Leon said. "I don't know what the big deal is."

His eyes fixated on the gathering, which was far from the first one they'd seen. The clogged streets made transport trucks lay on their horns. They walked along traffic backed up multiple blocks.

"I suppose the Pokémon League really has cleaned it from the records if you don't know," replied Lance. "It was during the Coalition War."

"That long ago?"

"You're making me feel old."

"My bad," Leon said, suppressing a laugh. "But you were born after, right? Sixty-four?"

"Sixty-five." He moved on. "November 11th happened towards the end of Unova's invasion of Orre, and they were starting to lose momentum. I don't know what change in leadership prompted it, but they suddenly bombed a library that stood for almost a thousand years in Agate City."

"Isn't Agate a village?"

"It wasn't." His answer made Leon turn away. Lance kept his eyes on the demonstrators, many of whom had picked up stray metal rods from a nearby construction site. He felt a few eyes cast their way and he hurried his gait. "That was just the start. Unova launched a cultural genocide, systematically destroying landmarks, holy sites, universities, and the citizens that were unfortunate enough to be inside. Their objective was to demoralize their enemies. They succeeded. The Region was completely occupied in just a few months and Unova took what it joined the war for—Orre's petroleum deposits."

"Why won't the Pokémon League recognize it?" asked Leon, having fallen behind Lance's frantic pace.

"The League was expanding a multinational empire then. Unovan oil companies were its primary fuel supplier to build stadiums and such. Some people suggest it may have encouraged the Unovan leadership to invade. Orre's struggled for decades as a result of the war, but the Pokémon League doesn't want to admit it was on the wrong side of history."

When they had long since cleared the collected protesters, Lance finally took it upon himself to relax. He felt vulnerable for the first time in a long time. His guards were still stalking him at a distance—the League heavily encouraged him to be accompanied out in public—but they were alone enough for him to decompress.

"Can't the League just call off the summit if it doesn't want the Orrans to speak out?" Leon shot another question. He had always been an inquisitive kid.

Lance tried to explain as best he could and feed the younger Champion's curiosity. "The outcries would be worse. They have no choice but to keep the meetings on schedule."

"What can we do about it?" Leon asked as he pulled ahead, turned on his heels and planted himself in front of Lance. They were stopped in the middle of the street.

"I'm not as free to decide as you think I am. The League still has final say on its policy," said Lance.

"Are you kidding? You're _Lance Masuta!_ " Leon replied with a sigh. "I don't have nearly that influence."

"It's better for your health that you don't have to deal with this."

"But I want to," mumbled Leon. "I passed the stupid test. I did internships, and outreach, and community service, and the bloody World Trial, just to be prepared for things like this. But the League still won't treat me like a Champion."

Lance raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't have much experience yet."

"I can't learn to make a difference if I don't _do it_ ," said Leon, challenging him with a glare.

"You're a smart kid."

"First I've heard."

Lance ruffled his hand through his protege's hair. He pulled the young man forward down the street, trying to get as far from the discord as possible, at least for a little while. They turned one more corner and the streets turned neon. It must have been close to their destination, as Leon flashed with recognition. They strolled underneath hundreds of hanging signs, each brighter than its neighbor. The rainbow overloaded his senses until he wasn't sure he was seeing real colors. Despite the protests on the main road, this street was bursting with casual pedestrians. The thin roadway grew fuller by the second.

"So, where exactly were you taking me?" he asked while squeezing himself through other pedestrians. He kept one hand glued to his hat. Blowing his cover in a place as crowded as this would be a paparazzi nightmare.

"Just wait and see," sang Leon.

Leon was three heads ahead of him and Lance barreled through people, throwing offhanded apologies, to make sure he didn't lose the kid. He wasn't entirely sure who needed to be babysat. His hand was grabbed, and he was quickly dragged inside a thin building nestled between blocks in place of an alley.

Neon cut to black. He wobbled forward into the unknown building, his eyes failing to adjust to the suddenly altered lighting, not that they'd even adjusted to the street. Black walls curved into black floors, covered in black tables with a black counter. Lance realized that it wasn't his vision, but instead that the entire establishment was cast in the same void tone. The only thing that shone within the abyss was the library of colorful bottles along the back wall matching the street signs in variety.

"It's a bar," said Lance, flatly. He noted that the only other person in the establishment was the tan-skinned woman standing behind the counter. She stole glances at him while trying her best to look occupied.

"Only the best bar in Magnadia, according to thousands of user reviews. Welcome to Pigment of Your Imagination! I thought you'd be bummed after today, so I paid to clear the place out." Leon jumped almost a meter into the air, slapping the ceiling with his hand, and when he landed back on the ground, he grinned. "You know, for some peace and quiet."

"This isn't a good use of my time," said Lance, though he was far less sincere than he hoped.

"No, this is a _great_ use of your time," said Leon, who grabbed his arm and pulled him up to the bar itself. "You and your wife never get a break, so here it is. It might be the last one you ever get!"

"Drinking isn't fun with just two people."

"Technically you have three," said a voice. Lance whipped around to see Leon's agent, Geralt, standing in the doorway. He walked up to them both and narrowed his eyes behind his lenses. "Do you have any idea how many things I had to run by the chairman to get this done? The only reason I wasn't early was because I was going through mounds and mounds and _mounds_ of paperwork."

"Come on mate, we're here to take the edge off. Leave the logistics out of it." Leon put a hand on his shoulder, but Geralt pinched it by the middle finger and dragged it off.

"Fun shouldn't be a priority when the city is erupting in protest," said Geralt.

Lance stepped back from the counter, tightened his cloak, and let his gaze wander to the door. The League probably still wanted him on standby to talk to the public, but with both their loose schedule and the change in event operations, he hadn't received additional prompting from the League since the last press event. He needed to be vigilant. He needed to be responsible.

"First glass is on the house," said the bartender.

And he really needed a break.

* * *

The dome around the penthouse was invisible—Cynthia barely registered that a bulletproof sheet of plate glass stood between her and the approaching starlight.

From her palace in the sky, she witnessed the horde amass around the convention center a few blocks down. Their signs were torches set to burn the whole city to its foundations. Shortly after her phone rang with the news, most of the protesters disappeared inside and the summit returned to life. She wondered how many were simply waiting for the venues to reopen.

According to a League update, she was scheduled for a second exposition battle at 2200 hours. The more reasonable time slot at 1800 was canceled by the city taking up their arms, but the League insisted that the show must go on.

She swung a fist at the sky and struck the invisible boundary. Here she was rolling in luxury, surrounded by fine leather and wood from some mythical forest in Hoenn, when she should have been tackling the public and delivering the truth.

The League thought she was dangerous. They'd known for a while where her opinion lied, which is why she was rarely arranged for Orran events. If she spoke out again, she'd risk her position, and she couldn't stomach speaking against her beliefs just to make a public appearance. In a way, she was thankful for the arrangement. It was her own little protest. Until 2200, she'd stay buried in her research material.

She glanced around the mess of documents, only then realizing how disastrous her business had left the penthouse. Hundreds of comparison sketches and note pages laid about, drawing her further into the Ruins of Alph. She'd almost listened to her husband. However, a realization hit her earlier that afternoon.

From the hotel desk, she withdrew a cross-shaped pendant. It was carved from impervious stone, hardly a crack in its surface, and at the point of intersection laid a polychromatic gemstone. She'd once asked Stone to appraise it. When he, of all people, couldn't place its origin, she knew it was something sacred to Lance's people.

It was sacred, yet he'd gifted it to her. Cynthia could replay that day in vivid clarity. They'd slept past noon. After dragging themselves out of bed, and making a half-assed late brunch, they took a few easy hours in the city park to let their Pokémon run wild until the before-party. Rowan was there. He was Champion of Sinnoh then and showed up even after refusing the invitation.

The ceremony was at six. They knelt to exchange gifts. Hers, a piece of cloth woven in the traditional style of Celestic Valley, one he still bore on his shoulders. His, the pendant, carved by members of the Blackthorn Dragon Clan. That moment felt like its own lifetime.

Afterward, they fought their ritual battle. He hadn't beaten her before, and he hadn't since. She couldn't say why she surrendered her family name, but after her defeat, she dropped to the floor and let out her heart. Lance thought she cried out of sadness. He was an idiot.

She returned to the present with the pendant in hand and remembered why she'd picked it up in the first place. The carved design on the gem—what looked like a wisp of smoke crossed with parallel marks—was an odd one. It hadn't been sighted at the Ruins of Alph, but she found a far more interesting discovery in a century-old research journal buried in the Sinnoh League's grand library. She handled it like a flower. On a yellowed page, tucked in the corner, was a drawing. The researcher had recorded the exact same symbol just outside Snowpoint, at what is now known as the Snowpoint Temple.

One afternoon drowning in papers and she found two more instances, one from a rare 1848 travel guide and another in an artistic depiction of a religious temple just outside Shalour, Kalos from the late 1200s.

There were no nomadic peoples, no diasporic cultures, no empires associated with this symbol at any of the relevant dates. She couldn't find much more than a few passing curiosities of the symbol as she flipped through texts about the Snowpoint Temple, and the few she could find about Shalour were no better. It seemed that latter temple was completely restricted from public access by a Kalosian organization similar to the JHF.

There were two hypotheses. The first was that this was modern man's doing, some coordinated prank to deface multiple pieces of antiquity. Though she couldn't ignore the possibility, the second hypothesis was far more exciting: the symbol originated in a culture far older than both ruin sites were claimed to be. If these peoples connected to the Dragon Clan and Ruins of Alph migrated worldwide, it could even explain why the Unown language was found in such disparate locates in Johto, Sinnoh, and Hoenn.

It was incredible. Cynthia stared at the symbol and marveled at what it represented. There was some connecting element between Blackthorn's folklore, the Ruins of Alph, the Snowpoint Temple, Shalour's temple, and possibly more. She'd stumbled upon evidence of a culture otherwise erased from the annals of history.

She clutched the pendant and then locked it around her neck, hiding it within the neckline of her coat. Whatever she'd found must be related to Lance's vague warnings. She still couldn't understand why he insisted on keeping secrets. It was a fool's game.

Cynthia was also a fool.

She claimed to be a defender of the truth, but even she had kept a secret from the world. When she stood upon Spear Pillar two years ago, she witnessed a madman's attempt to recreate the universe. Her scientific mind gawked at the suggestion, and she would never know if it was truly real, but he summoned the power of Pokémon understood to be gods. And she had kept it hidden.

When she was drawn into the strange place, far from reality and beholden to no laws, she had kept it hidden. The only ones aware of that day were those alive that witnessed it, and she had quietly excluded the events from the League's official report on the Galactic Company. She had convinced herself that it was for peace. That the people would be unable to find it if they knew such destructive power existed. Perhaps Lance felt the same about his clan's secrets.

The pendant began to cut into her hand, and she quickly loosened her grip when she realized. She was a hypocrite. But if what Lance knew rivaled that day, _she_ needed to know. It was their duty to fight the battles no one else could.

A shudder ran through her, creeping up her spine and caressing her neck. She looked up from her desk. A shape reflected off the invisible glass—Cynthia shot up from her seat and whirled around to face an empty room. When she looked back to the window, it was gone.

"Guards?" she called. Per procedure, two were stationed outside her hotel door when she was present, and one when she wasn't. No one responded.

She tensed forward, her footsteps echoing in the empty penthouse. She reached for her pocketed capsules as she shuffled silently through the kitchen and the main hall. Her gaze shot to every shadow in the room, wavering under the chandelier that cast them. The suite was deathly quiet, her unsteady breathing the only audible noise as she approached the hallway door. Cynthia curled her fingers around the handle.

The door swung inward. Two tall men, done up in body armor, stepped inside, their own Poké Balls ready to be deployed. "We heard your call, ma'am."

She narrowed her eyes and looked between them. She pointed to the one with pale pink skin and red hair. "Perform a full search. _Now._ "

He looked to his partner and shrugged before disappearing into the hall with resounding steps. To the other, a younger man with brown skin and black hair, she said, "Come with me. I'm heading to the stadium."

"I thought you couldn't go out until your battle." After looking at his watch, he said, "It's still a ways away."

"I know. But I don't wish to be here anymore."

Cynthia stepped through the door down the hotel's opulent halls, clenching Kiki's Poké Ball against her chest. The guard shut the door and chased after her. The hallway was loud; rushing water flowed through canals beneath the walls and the hanging lights rang when they swung into their neighbors.

She pulled up her Pokétch and called her husband. He picked up after seven rings. _"How are you feeling?"_

"I'm returning to the stadium early," she said.

" _That's a violation of IPL orders, isn't it?"_

"I don't care," she said. "I'd like some noise.

" _That's unlike you."_ He paused. _"We're open to the public again and alcohol's on the menu. I'm sure it's going to be noisy for a while."_

She hung up without another word and ignored the calls back. She could waste a couple hours in a back room, perhaps working out some strategies with Kiki. Maybe this battle was a blessing—anything to let her stay awake tonight.

* * *

Eighty seconds. She timed the ticks with taps of her foot. She stood in her husband's former place, waiting to ascend to the crowd.

"And you're certain this will work as intended?" she asked the older woman. They ran a few tests before the stadium opened to mixed results. The holograms were functional but constantly glitched and wavered.

"Would you rather tell the IPL that this summit is a big piece of rubbish?" snapped Magnolia.

"No, but—" She looked to Kiki, burdened by the massive Dynamax gear to the point of slumping. Cynthia was certain her Garchomp would emerge with a deformed spine. "Is it supposed to be this heavy?"

"Err, well, it feels a few kilograms heavier than I remember, but I'm used to our sleeker models."

Cynthia raised an eyebrow and turned back to her partner, who was obscured by the shadowy control room. Careful of the spines and the machinery, she wrapped her arms around the Garchomp's midsection. "Are you sure you'll be fine?"

A low purr reassured her, and she stepped away, looking to the other Pokémon in the modern gear. Stone's Metagross was completely unresponsive, its metal body at home in the exoskeleton. It tracked her with sharp eyes. The neon lights of the control room's machinery outlined the cross on its face.

"Maybe I'll actually beat you for once," said her opponent. Stone walked to his position, tapping the hull of his walking tank as he passed. She could only see him through the darkness because of the reflective metal on his jacket.

"A bold statement," she said.

"Let's get it over with."

Magnolia gave the all-clear, and the process began. The cage surrounded the combatants and the Trainer's footholds rose at ten seconds. The roof cracked above them; however, unlike her husband's battle, a port opened above the Pokémon as well, and they too began to ascend. Was that supposed to happen? Smoke filled her lungs as she broke the surface and she was bombarded by sound from every angle. The crowd's voice rose from a shout, to a howl, to a roar.

And then it stopped.

The thousands of people surrounding them all fell silent as the smoke was whisked away. Across the Pokémon locked in their battle gear, the Champion of Hoenn stood like a mannequin, arms pinned at his sides.

She watched a man step from behind Stone, arm held level with the Champion's head. In his hand was a jet-black item. Her heart threatened to burst beneath her clothes, the pendant, and the bulletproof vest. She refused to respond. She couldn't show fear, even as a handgun was pressed to her friend's skull.

Screams among the seats were immediately silenced. Strategically planted men and women drew weapons from their clothes to threaten the nearest spectator. They held all manner of guns obtained in all manner of ways. Automatic rifles, shotguns, simple pistols. Cynthia looked around frantically, realizing that event security was far outnumbered. The entire stadium would listen or die.

The perpetrator held a horrible grin, curving the white streak across his face. Wes kept the weapon level as he jerked Stone's microphone from his ear.

"I think I finally have your attention," he said, voice booming across the silent stadium. A cameraman focused on him, his mug broadcast on the big screen. "But just in case, let's add one more chip to the pile."

A gasp enveloped the stadium as he lifted a Poké Ball. He tapped the button. The Dynamax equipment consuming Cynthia's partner Pokémon sparked to life. The Garchomp roared. Her body was enveloped in red light, the tell-tale sign of a materialization beam, but Kiki's capsule sat safely in Cynthia's pocket. She was converted to data and the red streak leapt across the arena to strike the Poké Ball in Wes's raised hand.

"Kawariki!" Cynthia shouted.

Her stomach dropped when she realized what had occurred. The malfunctioning equipment. The suspicious replacement. It was all a ruse to put her Pokémon in a vulnerable position. The mechanism Kiki wore wasn't a Dynamax device

It was a Snag Machine.

The technology was created by criminals in Orre to override the ubiquitous PC system, and no matter the effort the League made to stamp it out, it still existed in the shadows of the Orran sands. She was helpless as her Pokémon was stolen away. She scrambled for her capsule and tapped the button in vain, but the capture was already complete. The Snag Machine lay fragmented on the ground where Kiki once stood.

Wes was on stage and the summit was his hostage. He tapped the microphone twice. "Now that our business is clear, let's talk about November 11th, 1962."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had more trouble with this chapter than the last, especially because this is where the story really picks up. I was trying my best to give each of the primary characters major character moments here to lead into the latter half. I can say that I love Leon in this story, he's just so bubbly and exuberant that it makes me smile.
> 
> The concept of Pokémon Trainers having a ceremonial battle to decide which surname to keep was taken a Tumblr post, though I believe it was an anonymous comment on another forum first. Unsure, but I stole it.
> 
> Recently, I've been reading Bleach and One Piece, two of the "Big Three" from the 2000s and early 2010s. I missed out on them then, but it's been interesting to see what all the hype is about. I'll get to Naruto eventually too.
> 
> See you on August 10th for Chapter 3: Uprising. Thanks for reading.


	3. Uprising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an entire stadium held hostage, Wes aims his sword at the Pokemon League. Cynthia is forced to make a choice for the Orran people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by [ShonnaRose.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShonnaRose/pseuds/ShonnaRose)

Wes told his story with a pistol in one hand and a Poké Ball in the other. They were tools, equal in some respects but not others, and both took a prisoner.

Please. Those were the words on Stone's lips, unable to be said with a barrel against his skull. He pleaded silently beneath Wes's booming manifesto, but Cynthia knew she couldn't answer his call. Any wrong move by her, security, or even innocent attendees would paint the city red. She was powerless.

All cameras focused on him, Wes explained the tragedy of November 11th and the Coalition war to thousands present and billions who weren't. He told of the countless artifacts annihilated, the cultural landmarks razed, and the civilians murdered. He spoke of how it tore pages from Orre's chronicles, forever lost, and fractured Orran society at its foundation. The Unovans present turned shock-painted faces to their neighbors. Cynthia lamented how few knew the details and how it took this situation for them to learn.

"...and we thought our war was over when the treaty was signed. But we were wrong." Wes paced around the petrified Stone, glancing to the Metagross. Even its unrivaled brain found only a single bloodless solution. It was letting the man speak.

"The world gave up its freedom that day. One-hundred nineteen nations tore down their governments and handed control to an independent party they thought could lead them to peace, because they played the game and lost. But Orre refused, and when the Pokémon League became the new world authority, they let us live with the atrocities they created. They knew we'd eventually come crawling."

Wes chuckled into the microphone and tightened the grip on his gun, causing a ripple through his captive audience. He was overtaken by his own musings for a few seconds, and Cynthia took the chance to take one imperceptible step closer.

"We burned for almost 40 years. We lost our resolve as our cities collapsed and criminals ran rampant. Maybe we thought, once we gave in, our war would finally end. We longed for the peace the rest of the world had supposedly gained. But we never received it!" he exclaimed.

In a swift motion, he pointed his handgun skyward and fired. Cynthia's ears rung with the discharge. She cursed herself for missing the chance—for the short moment Stone was free, she should have acted. She should have been the Champion she was supposed to be. But a second hesitant step was all she could manage before Wes once again had Stone at gunpoint.

"What did the Pokémon League do when they discovered Cipher had infiltrated our cities? They closed our borders! When dust storms blanketed and starved us, they refused aid! They left us to die and sort out our own problems, just like we always have. They can't even do the bare minimum and recognize the tragedy of November 11th. We've been refused, time and time again, any recourse for the pain we've endured for half a century!"

The man boiled with anger, his shouts guttural. She'd never seen such passion, and she was enthralled by his speech. But as quickly as it came, his fury dissolved. He took in a breath, audible in the microphone, and she could hear whispers around her that prayed for it to be over. Wes answered them with a revelation. "But I forgive them."

He looked for the nearest camera. Every lens in the arena was on him, broadcasting to parts unknown. Breaking news broadcasts around the world were no doubt tuned in. When his eyes found a viewport, he looked directly into it.

"Hear that, Terminus? This is your second chance. I'll forgive the past if you answer my one demand." He addressed the sovereign directly, knowing he'd be watching. His voice dropped to a pained whisper. "Set Orre free."

Cynthia's heart threatened to burst. The words echoed within her than anyone else in the stadium. They cowered in fear and waited for the nightmare to end, but she realized the truth in his vengeful speech.

From her seat in the clouds, she'd watched the Pokémon League fail to address the problems of its most essential citizens. It was how the Galactic Company had found life in Sinnoh's exploding business sector. It was how the Rocket Syndicate was left to prosper for over a decade, only deemed important enough to destroy after they besieged a League facility. Her own daughter had been injured in that heist, but the Indigo League sought to protect its ego above all and conveniently aligned with her husband's crusade against them.

The Pokémon League privatized world peace at the behest of its citizens. It alone weighed the value of human and Pokémon life, and sometimes, they weren't worth enough. Cynthia lived with that fact every day.

"Prepare unconditional terms of our independence within forty-eight hours. If you don't," he said, waving his gun and the Poké Ball, "the hostages die."

He threw the microphone down and crushed it underfoot, grabbing Stone by the collar. Men poured out onto the battlefield to regroup with their leader, guns drawn to keep the spectators in line. Cynthia doubted it was necessary; they were deathly silent, stunned by Wes's words. As one, the Orrans began their retreat. Those holding the stands at gunpoint quickly dashed for the exits with their weapons drawn, keeping distance from the security. Panicked screams arose in their place, the attendees safe enough to cry out.

League security tackled Cynthia to escort her from the field. She was too frozen to even reach for her Poké Balls. Her senses dulled—she could barely feel the men dragging her to safety.

Cynthia reached out with a weak arm. Her microphone was still active, and she coughed out one word that resounded across the stadium. "Wes."

She didn't expect any response, but she could make out the man's face as he turned back towards her. His revolution led him from the arena, but their eyes met one final time before he vanished through the tunnels.

* * *

"Kiki, _clear!_ " ordered Cynthia.

Her Garchomp fired like a bullet. Her species was streamlined—with their limbs tucked, the negligible wind resistance around their fins allowed them to cut through the earth as they tunneled underground or even perform pseudo-flight despite lacking proper wing structures. When the attack smashed into the ash-laden detritus, Kiki was already sailing towards the energy barrier at the field's perimeter. She kicked off the hard-light surface and rocketed back to the center, meeting her opponent for the counterattack.

"Bullet Punch!" Steven's Metagross processed the order at the first syllable.

The four-legged metal beast swung a forward leg in an uppercut. For any other Pokémon, the shot would have been impossible, but the Metagross's super-intelligent brain calculated Kiki's velocity, rotation, and probability for a feint. It struck her nanoseconds before her talon could find its mark. She was slammed into the arena floor, panting, blood seeping from her jaw where the three claws pierced her scales.

Their exchange swirled ash in the air. The battle terrain was Successional Forest; lifeless trunks rose from a white blanket, a simulation of a forest fire's destruction. Kiki slowly rose to a stand and screeched, while her opponent silently anticipated their next move.

The crowd was exploding, but neither could hear them. The energy barriers were soundproof to keep the participants' focus on each other. It wasn't a battle. It was an intimate moment between friends—and rivals.

Cynthia met Stone across the ashen forest. His eyes were painted with furious tenacity. The score was 2-1. She still had her Eelektross, while only his Metagross remained, and it was far from peak condition. Sizable dents adorned its metal body, and one of its legs was stiff and locked because of paralysis from earlier in the battle. She predicted that it only had a minute left, maybe two. It was time to finish the fight.

Cynthia threw out her arm. "Sandstorm!"

Kiki raked her claws through the ash, stirring even more loose from the ground. She covered her mouth and nose as it permeated the air, blocking her vision.

Stone ordered an Iron Defense, expecting an attack through the haze, but as the particles began to clear, the battle was quiet.

Cynthia hadn't given an order. Instead, she relied on her partner to attack without alerting Stone to their plan of action. It was the only way they could get past his defenses once and for all. Their minds merged as one.

The ash settled on an empty battleground. Kiki was nowhere to be found. Stone's eyes widened, and he frantically called to his partner, "Use Earthquake!"

He was too late. The ground fissured beneath the Metagross, not due to its own quake but the massive force emerging from the soil. Kiki slammed her entire body into the Iron Leg Pokémon's underside, sending it skyward with the transfer of physical force. It fell like a meteor, blasting a crater into the dying forest. The battle ceased.

_"And the winner of World Trial LV is…_ " The announcer held his breath. Stone's Metagross struggled, its legs twitching as it tried desperately to find bearing, but its exhaustion overtook it. Its legs went limp. _"Cynthia Masuta!_ "

The screens around the arena flashed green as the energy barriers fell. Cynthia was overwhelmed by the deafening crowd until all she could hear was her own heartbeat. Her face broadcast on the jumbotron for all the world to see, the text "WINNER" displayed underneath.

_"She moves forward to the final challenge!"_ declared the voice from on high. _"She will face the defending World Champion, Oberon Terminus, in the Resolution Battle!"_

She felt herself breathless under the weight of her partner. Kiki drew her into a crushing embrace, her rough scales threatening to flay the skin off Cynthia's face and arms. But she wouldn't tell her to stop. She mustered all the strength she could to deal her partner in kind. Her feet were wrenched from the ground for her efforts, and she was swung around by her two-and-a-half-meter monster without a care in the world.

"Hey! Put me down!" she screamed over the thunderous audience, laughing all the while.

Her support staff, family, and friends came rushing onto the battlefield. As her head whirled, she could see Rowan and his graying beard, her aunt-in-law Drasna adorned with talons and teeth, legions of support staff and sponsorship representatives, all smiling wide. Except Rowan. His was barely a grin.

But someone was missing. When she finally coaxed Kiki to set her back down—though not without a few more stinging, rough-skinned nuzzles—she caught a glimpse of Stone's steel-blue hair vanishing across the arena.

Cynthia pushed away from her supporters, despite the continuing narration of the tournament announced, and broke out into a jog across the ashes. She stepped quickly down the stairs, darkness enveloping her as she descended into the abyss beneath the Grand Arena. Her heels tapped on the tiled floor.

When she came up to the participant holding room, she watched a Pokémon Center nurse emerge and disappear down the hall with a tray full of capsules. Cynthia slipped inside and locked the door behind her.

"I don't want your pity," he said, his back turned away from her.

"Good. I refuse to give it." She stepped around the bench and sat beside him, half a meter between them.

He sat with his head hung for a few minutes, sparing not a single glance at her. She respected his wish for silence and rolled Kiki's capsule in her palm until he decided to move forward. He said, eyes on the floor, "I'll never beat you."

"Just because you haven't doesn't mean you won't," she said.

"This time it was you. Last time it was your husband. Before that it was you. And next time…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "I don't want to be in your shadow."

"You must be kidding. Your company runs half the world."

"That was my father's work. Not mine," he muttered. "I want to accomplish something for myself one day. But I haven't."

Cynthia leaned back in her seat, catching her head in her shaking hands. She tried to quell her excitement. It shouldn't matter who won or lost. They were both atop the world. She sighed. "I don't know what more I can offer. But know that I want you to succeed. I'm always here if you need me."

She saw the defeat in his icy eyes when he looked up at her. But there was a hint of something else as well. "As if I'd need _your_ help, pencil pusher."

"Thus spoke the rock licker?" She chuckled when she saw the grin creeping up on his face. Hesitantly, she held out arm and motioned. He shifted towards her, and she rested her hand on his opposite shoulder.

The world was probably exploding with news of her victory. Every reporter on the Grand Axis could have been knocking on the holding room door that very second and she wouldn't have noticed. It wasn't important. Her friend was.

* * *

Her hand trembled around the worn capsule. The red cap wore scuffs from every adventure through the Sinnohan wilderness and those brutal weeks of training before each World Trial. She tapped the button absentmindedly, popping the device open and then slamming it closed within her fingers.

The League authorities took control of a small ballroom on the first floor of the convention center and locked it tight with personnel. They wanted her isolated. She was a potential target. So, she sat alone on a folding chair, underneath a dim light fixture that shined on the reflective walls. Commotion rose outside her holding room. Someone was contesting the guards' orders if the shouting—and roaring—was any indication.

The door blew off its frame and splintered into shards against the far wall. Her husband stepped through the doorway and strode towards her, his partner Pokémon squeezing itself inside behind him. Lance pulled her to a stand and crushed her within his grasp. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"They took Steven. They took Kiki," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"I know, I know." He gripped even tighter and tangled her hair around his fingers as he caressed her head. She could feel his heavy heartbeat connecting with hers. They held their position, swaying under the light of the ballroom.

When she mustered up the strength to step away, she returned to her chair and lost herself in the floor's swirling patterns.

Lance shot his gaze to the empty frame he created, and the two guards standing in place whipped their heads around to confirm that they were not, in fact, listening in. With a handwave, he ordered his Dragonite to block the doorway. He waited a few more moments and then joined her in confiding with the ballroom floor, pulling up a chair to sit beside her.

"I'm sorry. I was there when they delivered the fake gear," he said. She could see his crimson button-up shirt straining due to his tensed forearms. "And then I went out _drinking_ of all things. I could've been prepared for this."

"Where are they now?" Cynthia's throat felt raw.

"They retreated towards the Orran Desert. And there's, uhh, there's also this," he said, pulling out his smartphone. He quickly opened a video and presented it to her.

It was chaos. Live from Phenac, capital of Orre, an ONBS reporter relayed unsteady footage of the great palace that once housed the Orran kings. Militants surrounded the building with their Pokémon, weapons, and vehicles. A man shouted for independence on the building's steps, leading his cheering comrades to storm inside.

Her husband cut the playback and put away the device, not letting her linger on the events. "They took the League council hostage. Their demand was also two days."

Wes had made his move. She felt sick to her stomach, squeezing the Poké Ball until her knuckles cracked. But she couldn't disregard his message. Orre was better off without them. She wanted to grant them the truth they sought for fifty years and give them back their own destiny.

"We should comply," she said, softly.

He raised an indignant stare to her, fire in his eyes. "You can't be serious."

"It's the easiest way to get the hostages back. They deserve their freedom."

"Their push for independence is a non-issue as far as I'm concerned," he growled. "But they played this game with lives at stake. I'm not going to legitimize their regime after they held an entire stadium at gunpoint."

The people of the convention center were undoubtedly innocent, but he was ignoring the central reason for Wes's actions. Did he even care about the atrocities committed against Orre?

But she considered further the ramifications of this day, and the thought made her tremble. Orre was a Region of wild cards. The rest of the world could call upon citizen Pokémon Trainers, Champions at the forefront, for peacekeeping purposes. Orre had no such privilege. Instead, it had the authority to mobilize armed citizens for peacetime security, yet another concession from the Pokémon League due to the scarcity of Pokémon in the Region.

Orre had the closest thing left to a traditional military on the planet. Playing with Orran independence meant entertaining the possibility that it could spark war. Which side would make the first play was unknown. She turned to her husband.

"Then what do you propose?" she asked, seeing the determination on his face.

"That child thinks this is a game, and he's going to abide by his rules," he said. "Terminus is en route with the International Police. I'll defeat the rebels and get the hostages back in forty-eight hours."

She pursed her lips. He was always headstrong, and she should have expected him to do something like this but hearing him say it made her seethe. She spoke under her breath, but she absolutely wanted him to hear. "So, it's all up to you. As usual."

He was already striding towards the door when he heard her. Lance planted his feet and cocked his head her way, urging her, no, challenging her, to continue.

"You're going to haul ass through the Orran desert without me, even though my partner is at stake." She didn't raise her voice and forced him to retrace his steps to hear her. She had his undivided attention now.

"You're free to join us if it would make you happy," he said.

She scowled at him. "Why should I stand behind the League?"

He fell silent, obviously not entirely confident in the implications of his choice. But nonetheless, he had made his choice. He had arranged a mission to get the hostages back and planned to ship out without her.

"You didn't consult me. You didn't even consider anyone's solution but your own," she muttered. "Why did you even come see me if you were just going to ignore my opinion?"

"That's not what I—"

"That's exactly what you're doing," Cynthia said. She was tired of being treated like a child instead of his wife, his confidant, his friend. "Just like how you went after the Rocket Syndicate without me, even though they hurt _our_ daughter. And just like how you seem so convinced that the Ruins of Alph are entirely your problem!"

He read her words carefully, and said, "You were researching again."

"Yes, I was! I'm finding evidence of an ancient culture that should be shared with the scientific community, one that's possibly connected to your Dragon Clan. You've told me time and time again that it's too dangerous, that it's too important, and so you've decided that it _has_ to be only you."

"I refuse to put you in danger," he said, in a shaking voice.

"And what if you die?"

He didn't have an answer prepared. They struggled to confront that specific question the few times it had occurred to them before. After all, they were atop the world, never burdened by need, and constantly surrounded by security; what was there to fear? Lance let it show in his trembling hands. Sweat raced down his cheeks and pooled on his chin, no doubt from the stress of the situation but further intensified by her question.

"If you die, your secrets vanish," she began, finally managing to drag herself to a stand. Her legs were unsteady, but just like when she faced Wes, she stubbornly kept herself upright. "You're one unfortunate accident away from losing control of whatever it is you're trying to protect."

"That's incredibly unlikely," he said.

"But not impossible." She pressed further, planting herself in his face and craning her neck to meet his eye. They stood under a light, dancing with their words rather than their feet. "Someone broke into the hotel room."

His expression jumped to alarm quickly. "What? One of Wes's men?"

She hated that sickening concern on his face. He had already jumped to his first instinct—to take over the problem himself, rather than address it together. "I don't know, but someone was there. They managed to sneak past the guards, and they couldn't find evidence on the cameras."

"Are you hurt?"

"My point is," she said, ignoring him, "we aren't invincible. You can keep going like this, but one day you won't be around to protect anything. This could be your last chance to confide in me or anyone else."

For a moment, she seemed to break him. His face softened, and he stepped ever closer to her, their bodies pressed together under the chandelier. However, he reinforced something within himself. "I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No!" he roared. "If I say anything, I'm putting more than just you at risk. This is far bigger than either of us."

"All the more reason that you can't do it alone!"

A chime sounded. They stepped away from each other, separating across the ballroom floor. It was only a meter, but it felt longer. Like they were on opposite sides of the room. Like they were on opposite sides of the planet. Lance retrieved his smartphone again and stared at the screen, shooting her a curious, raised-eyebrow glance. He answered the call.

_"Oh my goodness, are you okay? I've been trying to get through for the past thirty minutes but the reception in this bunker is awful,"_ said an energetic, yet simultaneously calming, voice.

Cynthia felt all her anger, her tension, her fear melt away. She scrambled for her husband and stole the phone from his hands. She pressed a button to activate the video feed. She wanted nothing more than to see her daughter's face.

_"Mom, Dad, are you alright? I was worried sick!"_ said Kris.

She held in a breath. The past thirty minutes had destroyed her, and she was teetering on the edge of a breakdown, only contained by a decade of training her Champion persona. Cynthia felt tears welling up in her eyes and turned the phone back to her husband for just a moment to clear them. "We're… we're just fine. Thanks for checking on us."

"Is your brother there with you?" asked Lance. She scanned his face, looking for his own distress, but he too had masked it behind his soft smile.

Kris was unceremoniously shoved offscreen, and a mirror image of her husband's mane appeared. Saber looked unkempt but nonetheless kept up his beaming expression. _"Reporting for duty, Mom."_

"You said 'bunker.' Where _are_ you two?" Cynthia asked. The video feed paused for a moment, and she was certain it had cut off, but Kris shoved her head back in frame and battled her brother for the real estate. They were in a nondescript, metal-walled room, only the sting of artificial light to reveal their faces.

_"Some suited guys grabbed me from the dorm and took me back to the Indigo League. We're in one of the basement levels,"_ their daughter said.

_"It was my idea. Our safety is utmost priority, and rest assured that Christine and I are in no danger,"_ her son explained, a heroic inflection in his voice. He placed a hand over his heart, and she could see his chest inflate with pride. As if he needed the extra presence.

_"You made those guys kidnap me!"_ shouted Kris.

She and Saber knocked foreheads, gritted their teeth, and stared each other down. The air nearly sparked between them.

"You two." Her husband's words broke their duel and brought them to full attention. "I appreciate your proactivity, but you needn't be worried. Just ask your professors to let you work from home few days so the Elite Four can keep an eye on you."

_"Excuse you. I'm not a kid,"_ said Kris.

"But you're not an adult either," replied Lance. "Do it for us. Please."

Their daughter puffed her cheeks, then in the span of a second, lit a fire under herself to burn bright. Her expression exploded with energy, and her brother tried to match it. _"Fine! Zara and I will train all day while we're here, and we'll get strong enough to beat you next World Trial."_

_"Oho! You might have to go through me first,"_ said Saber.

_"The first thing we're gonna do is spar when we get out of here."_

_"And what happened last time? And the time before that? And that big one last year at the Goldenrod Showdown?"_ Saber cast a sly glance, adding more kindling the pyre.

_"Mom, Dad, you two create world peace or whatever. I'm gonna teach him what for,"_ said Kris, who cut the call immediately after.

She and her husband watched the screen blink. They turned to each other and together they sighed. They'd managed to keep it calm for the ones that mattered most. It was surprising—or perhaps not—how often their roles as parents overlapped with their duties as Champions of the people.

Lance returned the phone to his pocket and decompressed. He asked, "Do you see why I'm so scared?"

She swallowed her answer, feeling that it was unnecessary. No matter where in the world they were, she took time to regularly call her children just to see their faces. On days like this, seeing them smiling, fighting, and _living_ was the greatest relief.

"Say I believe you," she started, "and that whatever you know could endanger everyone if it wasn't kept between us. Would you tell me?"

He didn't respond. Yet again, she had failed to connect with him. There was still a barrier between them, no matter how close they thought they were.

But then he looked up. His voice shook. "Would you be able to live with yourself if you promised to keep secrets?"

The memory of that horrible place, far from reality, gripped her soul. It was a jumble of sensory signals she could barely piece together. Those divine beasts atop Spear Pillar, and that horrible monster in the abyss.

She had committed herself to revealing the secrets of this world for so long, and it pained her to know her philosophy had failed, that she had ever kept such momentous secrets. Was she willing to do it again if it meant keeping the world together?

After a long pause, she said, "I'll live. Sometimes peace is more important."

He leaned down to place his head against hers, and he noticed the chain around her neck. With gentle hands, he withdrew the pendant from her coat and curled both their fingers around it.

"Then, when this is all over," he said, "I will."

"Can you make that your promise to me?"

He bowed his head to her. "I promise."

He squeezed tight around her hand and the heirloom within. She wanted her problems to vanish, so she could just spend an evening with him on the floor and stumble home after a few glasses. But the night had only just begun. With that promise in mind, she took in a deep breath to let the conditioned air fill her lungs, stuffed the cross back inside her coat, and put on her strongest face.

The moment she stepped out that door, everything that happened in the ballroom would vanish. The world couldn't be allowed to peer into her life because her confidence was theirs. They would need it to face this crisis.

Cynthia started across the ballroom floor and nodded to her husband's partner Pokémon. The massive creature stepped aside the open doorway. Lance strode alongside her as they made towards the exit.

"Can you give me the status of the convention center?" she asked

"The summit is officially canceled. We've cleared the stadium for any 'surprises' and we're moving everyone there for safety. No one can leave until all attendees have been checked and searched."

"And the city?"

"The mayoral office imposed a curfew. Protests are being shut down by police."

They were accosted by the guards at the door, who demanded that Cynthia must remain in the ballroom for security reasons, as the League considered her the most likely target for a follow-up attack. Lance gripped the metal door frame and crumpled it in his grasp. They wisely decided to step back, and the Champions revealed themselves to legions of scared citizens being escorted to the stadium. None, regardless of nationality, wielded November 11th signs; she hoped they had chosen to hide them, rather than the alternative.

She spared a few apologetic glances around the hall and urged the crowd to remain calm. Everything would be fine, she said, and that they would all be able to return to their homes and hotels soon. Even a few short words were enough to awash the populous in relief.

"How long until the International Police arrive?" Cynthia asked him.

"About five hours." He tilted his head at her. "You aren't going to join the mission, are you?"

She turned to him, curtly, and met his eye. This time their standoff was equal. She wasn't his subordinate, beholden to his will—she spoke to the Champion of Indigo as the Champion of Sinnoh, equals in responsibility.

"I want what's best for the Orran people," she said, "and I'm not convinced that's what your plan is. I'll decide by the time Terminus arrives."

"And what will you do until then?" he asked.

Cynthia motioned to the line of convention-goers shuffling along the hall, guided by the event security. They moved in a solemn single file, many keeping their heads low. The spaces between them were even more extreme—whereas Orran and Unovan people previously added a few centimeters for their differences, it was now meters. And they were silent. Neither group had the courage to speak up, to address the current crisis or to begin settling their opposing histories, but they leveled pleading eyes towards the Champions as they passed.

When she looked at them, she could feel their sadness. Their irritation. Their fear. Their disgust. She too struggled under the weight of that night, but it was her job to lead when no one else could. She said, "I'm going to give these people hope."

"You already broke your gag order once," he said.

"Is it more important than them?"

His gaze lingered on the migration and he nodded, more to himself than to her. Cynthia turned away and waved him farewell, stepping down the hall.

The summit was over, and she had failed. Orre was no closer to the peace it had longed for, and Wes's actions had driven a wedge even further between the Regions. The CEO of the Pokémon League was coming. When he arrived, she would need to make a choice.

Could she risk bloodshed to give the Orran people what they longed for? Or would she play puppet to the ambition of the Pokémon League?

Cynthia shook her head. She needed was paper and a pen. She had work to do.

* * *

For every line she wrote, she scratched out two more.

Cynthia wasn't certain how there were any words on the page at all, but all she could do was keep writing. Multiple times, she accidentally switched to Sinnohan and realized too late, leading to a page full of marks and rambles. Her hand moved tirelessly. A stadium of anxious and scared people awaited orders from someone, and it was her duty to be that someone.

She worked while standing, paper resting on a clipboard, while suits darted past her to parts unknown. In compromise for leaving the ballroom, she was encircled by four large men, who timed their steps with hers as she paced. She was the center of the cross.

The tip of her pen cracked as she blacked out an entire paragraph. None of her words felt true. She looked up, frustrated beyond words, and caught a silent event-in-progress.

Two security guards dragged an Orran man across the floor. She barely recognized him. His hair fell across his bruised face and his glasses hung broken under his index finger. Professor Krane lay awake but limp, surrendering to his fate without a word of protest.

Cynthia shoved her speech at one of the guards and stepped forward to chase them down the hall. "Stop!"

The guards looked between each other, unsure how to proceed. Unnerved, they shook in their boots when she stepped closer.

"Well? Unhand him," she said.

"We, uhh," said one, who looked to his compatriot, swallowed his fear, and continued, "We can't do that. He was conspiring with the terrorists."

That word made her bear her teeth. It was a condemnation of not just Wes and his gang, but the entire Orran people. Krane looked like he was suffering—he still hadn't said a word and simply hung his head, ready for whatever fate awaited him. She absentmindedly retrieved a Poké Ball from her coat, which made the guards glance to her hand.

"Do either of you prefer to be known as someone on my bad side?" Cynthia's question made them seize with fear. She tilted her neck, audibly cracking her joints.

"But, Ms. Masuta—"

"Dr. Masuta," she countered, making them cower in fear. "If you would, hand him over to me and I'll report directly to Terminus myself."

If they feared anyone more than her, it was him. They immediately let go of Krane and let him drop to the floor. He would've smashed his teeth into the tile had she not rushed out to catch him. Cynthia shot another glare at the two guards. "How many more did you put into custody?"

"J-just one, ma'am!" squealed the younger of the two. He looked to advice for his partner, before conceding. "She's in Panel 142B."

"Let her go. I expect her to be in better condition than when you found her," Cynthia said.

This earned her a pair of nods, some fearful backsteps, and a cloud of dust when they vanished around the nearest corner. If she ever saw their faces again, she promised to give them more than just a few harsh words. She asked her assigned unit to help her carry Krane into an unoccupied conference room nearby, where they rested him gently against the wall. She ordered them to find a medical team, but she only managed to convince three of the four to leave her be. The fourth hesitantly resigned himself to standing outside the door after she threatened his job and possibly his life.

When the door closed behind her, leaving them alone in the dimly lit room, she said, "We'll get you some help. They had no right to mistreat you."

She wondered if he was even still alive. Completely motionless, he let gravity decide his posture. However, a vague whisper escaped him. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize. I could tell you weren't with them when I got here," she said, unbuttoning her coat and rolling it into a pillow. Her pendant hung free, sitting atop the protective vest concealed by her shirt. When she slid the bundled item behind his neck, he titled his head up to meet her eye.

He was crying. She found nothing but regret in his eyes, his cheeks streaked with anguish. She offered her sleeve, but he ignored her and spoke in shaking breaths.

"I knew."

She was taken aback. "What?"

"The Snag Machine. The plan," he said. "I had every opportunity to speak out."

"You wanted independence," she said. This time, she didn't wait for permission, and wiped his tears on her cuff. The wetness bled through to her wrist.

"This isn't what I wanted. Your Pokémon got stolen because of me, and the Orran Council, and Steven Stone, gosh, he didn't deserve it. You can't create freedom like this."

Stone's terrified face was fresh in her memory. She swallowed the bile in her throat. Cynthia leaned back and collapsed on her tailbone, feeling dull aches from either the horrible day or her cycle's poor timing. Probably both. She draped an arm over her knee, raked her opposite hand through her heavy locks, and let out a long sigh. The only noise audible in the room was the slow ticking of an analog clock, which read 11:33 at night.

"Krane," she said, earning his attention. "It's over. Just focus on what to do now."

"You should've let them lock me up."

"But I didn't."

Krane pushed her away to sit up a little straighter and stole a few breaths between his fading sobs. His cycle of inhales and exhales slowed, only matching the tempo of the clock's minute hand for a short time as it dropped to regular pace. He managed to slip his glasses on and stared at her through the shattered lenses.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked, receiving a small nod in return. "What can you do?"

"Do… do you still have the decoy Dynamax equipment?"

"I believe so," Cynthia said. It was retrieved from the stadium when she was hauled off by security, and she overheard the order to check it for additional dangerous elements. Wes couldn't have easily taken it with him due to its weight.

"I designed it. They told me it was being used to lure out a gang, so that's why I—"

She glared at him to cut off his line of thought. He trailed off and took her silent advice.

"I have more experience with handheld models," he said. "Wes stole one developed by Cipher, and he let me tinker with it to create new versions."

Wes probably still owned that handheld machine, she surmised. He wouldn't have been able to sneak it past security in its original form, which is why he needed the disguised equipment. And there was no telling how many more his lackeys dug up from the Orran underworld. Her husband and the International Police would be in danger of losing their own Pokémon when they gave chase. She asked, "What's your point?"

"I-I could create one with components in the larger equipment. I still have my original blueprints. You'll need it to get your partner back."

"What makes you think I'll fight?" she spat.

He shriveled inward, and immediately she regretted her words. He'd just offered himself to help. He, an Orran, thought the best option was to stop Wes before the situation escalated. Still, she couldn't bring herself to make that decision. She would be complicit to the Pokémon League's negligence.

Their few intimate moments abruptly ceased when her security team returned with a nurse and an Audino. The pink and tan humanoid Pokémon extended the feelers hanging from its ears, and with his permission, probed at his chest and temple and forehead to assess his vitals. The nurse applied ointment to his facial bruises and bandaged a cut he'd sustained on his left arm.

Cynthia was handed back her coat, which she stuffed under her arm, and her half-written speech. As she watched her security tend to Krane, she inked over every visible word, starting again from scratch. Her speech was scheduled in less than thirty minutes.

She announced to her security, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're moving to the maintenance room on the second basement level."

Her team clicked their heels together and saluted. They shouted in unison, "Yes, sir!"

Krane looked at her, befuddled, while the security grabbed him by the arms—gently, on her insistence—to lead him away. Despite the shuffling movement in the work, she could hear the clock ticking above it all.

"You only have a few hours before the International Police arrives," she said as they exited the empty conference room. "If you want to help, you need to get started right away."

He turned his head forward and said nothing more. He walked with her security's support, following her down the hall.

It opened into a large, carpeted venue, where stands and exhibitions lied derelict. Banners hung lifeless above floors littered with empty cups, food trays, and discarded souvenirs. All the event festivities ceased once Wes's uprising began, leaving a chilling emptiness in their absence. The glass paneled windows that lined the outer wall kept back the night that had fallen over the convention center.

Cynthia was glad she chose boots instead of heels, feeling the discarded objects crunch under her feet. The noise clawed at her throat and raised hairs on her neck. She was relieved when, upon reaching the elevator and entering the elevator, the noises finally vanished. She, Krane, and her four security guards sank beneath the earth.

The muscular female guard offered to lead when she asked for the maintenance room's location. Without directions, she was certain more people than Leon could lose their way in the depths. However, they eventually located the obviously marked doors and pushed their way inside.

"Auntie!" came a shout. Leon roughly grabbed her by the biceps, which caused her to spill her coat on the floor. He swayed on his feet and appeared to be hyperventilating. "Are you good? Are you okay?"

"I feel like I should be asking you the same question," she said.

"Dear goodness, that could have been me," he muttered. "That could have been me."

The egotistical part of her assumed that she was the intended target. With her position, she had major influence in the Pokémon League, more than most of the other Champions. However, she was just a replacement, and there was no telling what Wes originally intended.

It was her husband who comforted her, so she took on his mantle to calm the younger Champion. She pulled him into a firm hug, and though he was surprised at the sudden embrace, he quickly came down from his high in her arms.

"Ow," he said. "Why is your chest so pointy?"

"I guess you really don't have much experience with women."

All his anxieties were temporarily washed away in a burst of laughter, and he stepped away to enjoy it to its fullest. Cynthia grasped her pendant against her chest.

"It was my wedding gift," she explained. It wasn't wise to wear it around, and she slipped her coat back over it once again.

"There are easier options to carry." Magnolia approached them, leaning on a cane. A silver band was visible on her ring finger, but she quickly covered it with her other hand.

Past her, on the floor of the maintenance room, the decoy gear was cast haphazardly along the concrete floor. A pair of guards stood stalwart to watch over it, having already been cleared for Magnolia to investigate. She continued, "I'm sorry, young lady. I should have suspected the equipment was false even if it passed all my tests."

"No one needs to apologize," Cynthia said, turning to look individually at everyone in the room. Krane, Magnolia, Leon, her security, and through the reflections on the polished metal, herself. Perhaps they all made some mistake and were equally as guilty for what they couldn't stop, but it meant they were also equal in their responsibility. "Krane, get acquainted with Magnolia. You two will be working together for a few hours."

The man nodded and walked over to the elder. They shook hands—Krane performed some kind of Orran cultural bow—and immediately began sharing their knowledge, pouring over the heavy machinery. Within minutes they had gutted components from one of the larger pieces and laid them out on the floor.

Another face entered the room. Geralt shut the door behind him as he pocketed a cell phone, and he straightened out his vest and tie.

"I just got off the phone with the Chairman," he said to Leon. "Pack your things."

"No, no, no, no, nononono, we can't go just yet. Not while Auntie and Uncle are still here." The Champion stood his ground and cast a pointed finger at her.

The agent looked to her, and then to the two cerebrating minds on the floor of the maintenance room. "It's their job to deal with it, not yours. That's what all this is for, isn't it?"

"All the more reason I need to be here!" he exclaimed. He rose to his full height to challenge Geralt, though he didn't seem phased by the Champion's outburst. "It's gonna take them _hours_ to individually search every person here and finally send them home. If they leave, the people still need a Champion to keep them calm."

"I can't let you stay. End of story," said Geralt, curtly

"Because of the League?"

" _Because_." Geralt's expression shifted. As long as she'd seen him, he'd maintained an uptight and professional demeanor, but for once it cracked. He spoke as himself. "I can't risk putting you in more danger by being here. This isn't your job. There's no reason to put yourself on the line."

Cynthia realized that Leon stood in her shoes. He claimed it was the specific rules of the Galarian League that held him back, but what prevented him from acting was more than that. It was claims of protection. Claims of what's "better" for him.

Leon grabbed Geralt's hand and squeezed. Whatever troubles they had, they decided to put them aside for just a moment, and she stepped back to let them have it.

Her wrist buzzed. Her Pokétch sounded the alarm she set in anticipation of her performance. She gripped the clipboard hard and ordered her security to lead her to the stadium tunnels. Ready or not, there were people waiting for her.

* * *

Minutes before her speech, she had not a blank page, but a black page. From top to bottom, it was covered in ink that killed her thoughts before they could reach those that needed them. The only thing that shined through the blackness was a single phrase at the bottom. She rolled it over her tongue and found that it tasted bitter—however, unlike everything else, she'd managed to swallow it down.

Her Pokémon shared the dread. Rick sat solemnly at her side, paw on her shoulder to read her life force, and he seemed saddened by what he found. Princess wrapped the tip of her tail around Cynthia's leg, and Boss emitted a nice fragrance from his oddly colored bouquets. Opie shoved his head under her resting arm, allowing her to feel his soft plumage. Even Jeb had rattled his keystone close to her, though he refused to project himself. It brought her comfort, nonetheless.

The packed stadium was so silent that she could hear the approaching footsteps in the tunnel. She looked up at the girl retrieved by her security and was relieved at how much better she'd been handled. They urged her forward to face the Champion.

"Hello, Mrs. Masuta," she said.

Cynthia instantly recognized her, especially after seeing her face on the big screen. She didn't press about her title. "You gave the opening address."

The young woman nodded and hesitantly took a seat beside her. Her Pokémon cleared away to allow her access, leading Boss to once again jump on Princess's head and Rick to stand and pace. The girl looked between her team and then to her.

"My name is Rui," she said after a tense pause.

"He didn't seem to like your speech. Do you know him?" she asked.

"Wes is…" She paused, searching for words just as Cynthia had, only managing to land on one. "A friend. We've been through a lot together, so I'd like to think I understand him."

"Why aren't you with him?"

She searched for her voice again, prompting Cynthia to write down a few more phrases for her speech. However, those, too, were blacked out, leaving only the one line that stubbornly refused to die.

Rui finally found her words. She ignored Cynthia's question. "I can see certain things. Strange things."

Cynthia didn't look up from her speech. There was an implicit permission for her to continue, as she was curious what exactly she meant.

"I originally thought it was just Pokémon. I can see their hearts leaking from them like mist. Most breathe white. But for a rare few, I see darkness," said Rui. She paused. "People are like that too."

"And Wes?" asked Cynthia.

"He has always been gray. He does what he thinks is right, but he never sees the consequences. I felt like he stood on the edge for years and I was the only one preventing him from stepping off."

"Will he harm the hostages?" she asked

Cynthia could only guess the machinations behind the revolutionary's actions. She prayed that Stone and Kiki would be safe regardless of circumstance, that he held hidden compassion behind years of resentment. She wasn't sure why she trusted this woman's outlandish claims, but she waited for the answer. It wasn't the one she wanted.

"If it would send a message," said Rui, "yes."

It appeared again, the vision of Stone's face. The Orran council were no doubt similarly terrified, praying silently for someone to save them. And Kiki, her partner. She couldn't let them die.

The girl looked to her with sorrowful eyes. "You're going to stop him, aren't you?"

They were urging her to go. Her husband. Krane. Even this girl. None of them seemed to believe that independence was possible.

And they were right.

She understood the highest authority of the Pokémon League. She had listened to, and participated in, their deliberations, and knew exactly what kind of people they were. They would never let Orre go. The League would relentlessly pursue the lost territory, taking any trivial excuse to invade and bloody the sands. It would incite the largest conflict in fifty years because it was insulted by Wes's game.

When she became Sinnoh's Champion, she agreed to throw away part of herself to defend the greater good. She worked towards a world where horrors like the Coalition War could never happen again, and sometimes that path was one she fundamentally disagreed with. The IP's mission was the only way to peace. Peace was more important than Cynthia Masuta.

Cynthia gripped her speech, and in a bout of confidence, she pushed to her feet. With her Pokémon trailing behind, she walked towards the light.

Tens of thousands—more than the maximum capacity of the stadium, spilling into the stairs and walkways—cast silent eyes on her as she made her way across the turf. Not a single word was uttered among them. It was the same crowd that watched her be helpless to stop the uprising, and who saw her dragged away without another word.

A mobile platform and podium were set up in the center of the field, and she unsteadily ascended the stairs. The stadium lights burned into her skin, and she was soaked with sweat by the time she reached the podium and set her speech down. Her five remaining Pokémon took strong positions behind her.

She tapped the microphone. When the clock struck midnight, she cleared her throat and began. "Thank you."

Words normally used to signal closure were the opening act. She didn't look at the paper, instead coalescing her jumbling thoughts in real-time. She said, "You sit scared at the events that have transpired today, some knowing full well why we are here, and others only today learning a lost history."

She scanned her eyes across the masses. No one was faceless. She could see each pair of terrified eyes, and she watched the security continue to move through the crowd as they searched for weapons. Many of them stopped to watch.

"You may not see eye to eye. You may wonder what strangers sit beside you, and whether you truly knew them at all. Today has proven that you couldn't be more different. But the one thing you share," she said, "is that you want this to end. Thank you for being patient, and rest assured, you can leave the rest to us."

She cleared her throat, and her eyes wandered to the one piece of legible writing on the page. It was surrounded by darkness. Half was in Sinnohan, the other half in Unovan. Cynthia repeated it to the crowd, to the city, to the world. "I will set things right."

They didn't clap. She didn't expect them to. But as she stepped back from the podium and led her Pokémon back down to the ground, she heard their voices. The summit, muted by the shock of the uprising, began to speak again. It was all she could hope for.

* * *

The hours disappeared in the blink of an eye. Cynthia spent the time assisting the weapon search, her and her Pokémon offering themselves to speed up the process. It was only a few minutes after three that she excused herself to find a washroom. One of her security guards tried to push his way inside the door with her.

"Excuse me," she said, pointing to the sign on the door.

"It's too dangerous for you to be alone, sir," said the man.

He wasn't the one she threatened before, so he hadn't yet gotten with the program. Maybe it was worth dialing back her excuses. She reached into her messenger bag and unwrapped a tampon, holding it by the string to let it dangle.

The man's eyes went wide. He titled his head down and stepped out, shoving his back against the exterior wall. "O-of course. I didn't mean to bother you."

Cynthia pressed the door shut from the inside and exhaled hours' worth of negative emotions through her nose. The interior was dim, a few bulbs in the panel lights in dire need of replacing. There was still enough light to peer into the mirror.

She reeled at the person on the other side. The bags under her eyes were deep, and her hair was in all sorts of disarray—it was no better than it was that morning, before she had cleaned herself up for the event. She took a few moments to comb the massive volume, unsure when she'd next get an opportunity to tend to herself. And, despite only using it as an excuse for privacy, she did actually need to use the tampon she pulled out.

A few minutes was all she needed to collect herself. She used that time to convince herself if she was really going through with this. If her mind didn't have an answer, her body did. Cynthia grabbed her five capsules, secured the bulletproof vest beneath her clothes, tightened her boots, and let her coat flare behind her.

Her husband sent her the dispatch point via text message, and she made her way across the convention center towards the main parking lot. Outside, it was completely barren. Due to the curfew, the city's roads were deserted aside from commercial trucks roaming the night.

Lance and his Dragonite moved between a pair of armored vehicles as they loaded up supplies. The logo of the Magnadia Police Department adorned their sides.

"I'm going with you," she announced to her husband, alerting him to her presence.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then returned to moving the item he was carrying. "I thought you wanted to hand over their independence."

"I realize it's not possible. And no matter what, I can't let this operation fail," she said, squeezing the empty capsule in her pocket.

Lance offered a small nod, and then grabbed something from the back of the armored transport. He tossed it to her, and she barely caught it with both arms. It was composed of a metal gauntlet and pauldron connected with wires. The domed hand was topped with a blue electronic display and similarly colored wires extended to the fingers. She felt the weight in her arms.

"It's a Snag Machine," he said. "Krane delivered them to us a little while ago. He told me to thank you."

Unsure what to say, Cynthia fit her hand through the gauntlet and felt it tighten into place. She adjusted more straps up her arm until almost her entire limb was swallowed by the device. Mechanical sounds accompanied every movement of her forearm and flex of her fingers.

She curled a fist in front of her. This technology had been used to steal her partner away. She should have despised it, but she felt empowered by the weight on her shoulder. It was a tool, and for the sake of everyone, she had to believe hers were the right hands to wield it.

"Do we still have our agreement?" she asked.

He hoisted a large crate into the open hatch, and as he placed it down, he hesitated. His eyes were focused on the materials inside, what looked like food supplies for the trip. However, he turned to her and said, "I keep my promises."

"Right." Cynthia rested all her hope on it.

"By the way, someone else is here. You know her?" said Lance, pointing a thumb towards the other vehicle. The trunk hatch was open, and as Cynthia peered inside.

Rui sat patiently on the seats, which lined the edges of the vehicle. The young woman gave her a passing glance and then turned back forward, clearly unhappy to be involved.

"You've cleared this with the League?" Cynthia asked.

"They think I'm an asset," she said. "The people in Orre trust Wes and I, so maybe they think I can convince them to stand down."

The roar of a plane overhead cut off her response. The private transport took over the sky as it dropped through the cityscape. Illuminated by the lights of the city, she could see the official seal of the Pokémon League adorning its fuselage. Her heart sunk in her chest.

He had arrived.

No matter her high position within the Pokémon League, and no matter how many times she had spoken to him, Cynthia had never truly grown accustomed to being in his presence. Lance held a similar opinion, evident by his uncharacteristic fidgeting. As the plane's roar vanished, he and his Pokémon continued moving supplies to distract themselves from the inevitable.

It was only a short few minutes before black vehicles, windows tinted as dark as their bodies, rolled up to the parking lot. She covered her eyes behind her arm due to the blinding headlights, left on even as men and women piled out.

The agents of the International Police were some of the most respected in the world. Plated, tactical vests adorned their chests, covering expensive, gold-trimmed uniforms, and at their waists were their weapons: a belt of Poké Balls on the right, a holstered handgun on the left. They were modern royal soldiers loyal to no one but the throne. While their detectives were legendary and often loaned to smaller police units to solve cases, the front line officers were only dispatched for the most important missions around the world.

One of them grabbed a handle on the lead vehicle and pulled the side door open. A foot touched the ground. Cynthia watched with bated breath as Oberon Terminus, the CEO of the Pokémon League—and current World Champion—appeared in the flesh.

The aging man was covered from neck-to-toe in a similarly gold-trimmed, emerald suit. The jacket was more like a tunic that dropped to his thighs. A mantle cascaded from his shoulders, fastened with jeweled ornaments. Leon's kingly facade was nothing compared to true royalty.

The International Police knelt, as did the assigned security. Only Cynthia and Lance were left on their feet.

The man let a pause linger, as if to warn them before he began. His voice boomed at a regular speaking volume. "You will solve this matter quickly and decisively."

No introduction, no formalities. He conveyed his order without any avenue for disagreement.

Lance was the first to quell his hesitation and say, "As you wish, sir."

Terminus looked first at her husband, then flicked his head to her, his gaze burning through her skull. With a slow, thunderous step, he approached her, daring her to look him in the eye.

"I wasn't aware you were joining them, Dr. Masuta." His calmness only intensified his oppressive aura.

She fought against him, bit her tongue, and answered. "I am, sir."

"Are you committed to fulfilling the wishes of the Pokémon League?" he asked. "You've not been very faithful recently, and I could have sworn you disobeyed my direct orders."

Her blood ran cold in her veins. A phrase bounded in the back of her head. Her rogue brain threatened to whisper the words against her will. She wanted to demand him, as the highest seat of the Pokémon League, to recognize the November 11th tragedy. She wanted to demand that he fix the horrors his company had caused. But her will overcame her emotions. She said, "I am committed, sir."

He lingered on her. Cynthia wondered if he found the rebellion hidden in her eyes. If he did, he was untouched, and turned his back to them.

"Peace is in your hands, my Champions," he said. "Your mission begins now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a drawing I worked on while writing this chapter. Generally, most canon characters I use receive redesigns (either in my head or on paper) and I describe them in-story to match, and I really liked the image of Cynthia with the Snag Machine.  
> 
> 
>   
>    
>  **Cynthia with Snag Machine. Art by me.**   
> 
> 
>   
> I feel like I didn’t recognize until I got here that, by nature of the subject matter being much more complicated, this story would be harder to write than my previous one. I had to completely overhaul this chapter to keep Cynthia’s character consistent, and this received far more rounds of edits than any of the others (~8 instead of ~3) That said, I like the way things are heating up, and I’m just as excited for the new developments as I hope you are.
> 
> I’ve been playing The Last of Us: Part II for a few weeks. Overall, I’ve found it to be a pretty enjoyable ride, though somewhat slow-paced. I had a similar problem with Fire Emblem: Three Houses, where I feel like neither game provides good stopping points for any given session, so it can feel like it goes on forever. However, my difficulty pulling myself away is testament to how engaged I was. It had me on the edge of my seat.
> 
> Chapter 4: Deal With the Devil goes live on August 17th. See you next week.


	4. Deal With the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia and Lance will chase Wes's rebels into the desert in the hopes to retrieve the hostages. As they make their way towards Phenac, they are confronted with more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by [ShonnaRose.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShonnaRose/pseuds/ShonnaRose)

Cynthia's thoughts raced beside her on the empty highway.

She tried to avoid imagining the future, despite being surrounded by armed agents in the back of the armored van. Retake the government in Phenac from Wes's revolutionaries and secure the hostages. That invisible timer ticked ever closer to zero, and when her racing brain inevitably wandered back to it, she had to shake it loose. She told herself to think about something else.

The promise.

Once this operation was complete, once the uprising ceased, and once the hostages were safe, Cynthia would learn. She would understand why Lance had kept his clan's secrets from her for so long, and why it was an unfathomable danger for the information to spread.

Her academic sensibilities were in overdrive. Was there really some horrible truth involving numerous religious and heritage sites around the world? She couldn't believe it, but what she found in her limited research was already astonishing. She would be party to a forbidden knowledge, free to dive deep into the unknown, but forced to keep it herself. It pained her.

She was sure Albert Cassius, her long-time field partner, would be ravenous to help continue her research, especially if it somehow involved the Snowpoint Temple-he'd been conducting a research operation there for almost eight months. Other colleagues of hers would scramble to chip in, but she knew she had to uphold her end of the deal.

She and Lance were the only people who could know. But then, there was still someone else unaccounted for. That unknown perpetrator.

_"I saw someone inside. I fell inside the ruins, I think, and I saw a man who was talking to himself about the readings inside. But people said no one had managed to decipher the language or really know what culture the ruins came from, right?"_

That's what the kid had told her, over a year ago now. What exactly did that man know? What motivated him? It was just another part of the mystery.

The vehicle came to an abrupt stop, and she was thrust from unconsciousness. She had dozed, but however long she was out, it wasn't enough. After the agents piled out the hatch, she stumbled off the truck herself, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Dawn over the Orran Desert was pleasant—it was just the right moment before the midnight chill faded and wasteland boiled under the summer heat. Her eyes followed the soft blue towards the reddish rays clawing their way over the horizon. Shrubs fought for survival across the gentle hills. In the distance, layered mesas blurred behind the desert's haze, standing like chess pieces awaiting a move.

Cynthia let it soak in. She readjusted the brown cloak falling over her shoulders, a recommendation from her husband to block out the sun and keep the Snag Machine concealed. Maybe he really was onto something.

After a few more seconds of rest, she finally directed her attention to the raging inferno that blocked their path. Only a few meters down the road, an eighteen-wheeler was overturned. Its contents, whatever they were, were in flames. It rose high above the bountiful fuel, licking at open air. The fire had spread across the ground and engulfed two other vehicles lying upturned on the pavement.

"Approach with caution. We don't know what happened here," announced agent Hunt, the leader of their squadron. Her deep bronze complexion shined under the morning light, and her navy hair was tucked under a striking red beret.

Her underlings rushed forward with guns drawn. They tried to search the premises around the truck while it was still burning, coming as close to the flames as humanly possible. It was a horrible plan.

Cynthia took a more rational course of action and tapped a Poké Ball, releasing Princess from stasis. Once the red light faded and her consciousness resumed, the serpentine Pokémon recoiled at the emanating heat. Cynthia understood that her Milotic was a limited resource; the daytime heat of the desert would dry her out and there were no nearby bodies of water to replenish her internal sacs.

She nodded to her Pokémon. The Milotic's siren call rang out and a mist seeped from between the multichromatic scales on her tail. It condensed further as it lifted into the air until a small, dark cloud hovered above them. When the mass grew too heavy, it burst.

Stored water fell, blanketing the flames and the agents alike. Cynthia and Princess lingered just outside the shower's radius while the rest were drenched by the Rain Dance. Two ran screaming at the sudden, cold moisture, and others were left shivering in place. The droplets beat down the blaze until it was nothing but a few lingering spires of smoke.

Agent Hunt, now dripping, cast an irritated glance her way. She said to her squad, "Check the trucks."

Cynthia thanked Princess for her service and recalled her, while the IP agents attempted to open the eighteen-wheeler's passenger-side door. It was fused to the frame. With enough force, they pried it open.

"It's empty, sir," an agent reported. Small tufts of violet hair poked out from underneath her beret. "The driver probably escaped before the fire broke out."

Others searching the two smaller trucks also came up empty, though they had a more important revelation. One said, "These match the eye-witness descriptions of the vehicles taken by the Orran terrorists, minus a weird-looking motorcycle. They were here."

Cynthia herself approached the truck, slowly circling around the side and stepping clear of the pools of rubber beneath the wheel wells. She came to the overturned hull. Though the fire had consumed most of the paint, she could make out a charred section far from the cab. The logo was unmistakable.

"Oh! This is a Devon transport. It was probably stranded when the League halted road traffic," she said.

"You can leave the investigation to my agents," said Hunt through gritted teeth.

Cynthia returned to the transport and regarded the woman directly. She matched the lead agent's attitude with her own. The League never assigned her to leadership in law enforcement operations, unlike her husband, who had years of proper training, but she was certain she knew the procedure better than Hunt's lowest subordinates. She continued, "I think it tried to intercept Wes and his followers when it received the news. Now they're traveling on foot."

Though she placed a restless hand on her handgun and maintained her displeased expression, Hunt ordered her agents to group back up and prepare to move out. She turned towards the second armored transport as it rolled to a stop—for safety, both Champions were in separate carriers—and saluted her compatriots that stepped out.

Lance rested his hand on the car's roof and leaned against it, taking in the extinguished crash site. "Status report."

"Our targets are most likely on foot after losing their vehicle, meaning we have a chance to catch them before they reach Phenac. According to our map," Hunt said, tapping the simple paper briefing with the back of her hand, "the closest settlement between here and Phenac is a waystation slightly to the northwest. That's our next move."

"How are you holding up?" he asked, directing the question to Cynthia. He looked alive as ever, if more subdued than usual.

"Exhausted. Unfortunately, we normal people require something called beauty sleep," she said.

"A shame."

One of the agents snickered under his breath. All heads faced him, and he immediately stood back to attention, pulling his beret over his reddening face. As the others piled back into their respective vehicles, he was left shifting in his boots, unsure of how to slip away in the presence of the Champions

"Is there a problem, Agent Hamawi?" asked Hunt.

"There's, uhh, no problem," he stuttered, lips curling into the laugh he tried to suppress. "It's just that Mrs—"

Cynthia fired a glare sharp enough to cut through his body armor. Somehow, this armed guard was less intimidating than the average overzealous fan she often dealt with.

"That is, _Dr._ Masuta, err, drooled on my shirt when she was out. I just… thought it was funny."

Eyes wide, Cynthia rubbed her sleeve across her lips. She noticed a notable dark spot beneath the man's shoulder, and she moved her eyes upward to read his expression. He could've died from the sheer mortification.

Lance crossed his arms and looked between them. Cynthia composed herself and shifted to a sly expression.

"Don't be jealous just because he's handsome," she said.

The man fainted while standing up. He was completely inert for a few seconds, only coming back to reality when Lance placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. His cheeks summoned all the blood in his body.

Lance said, "I'm not jealous. But try not to slobber on every man you meet."

"Oh, please. I've heard you say you'd sleep with Diantha at the first opportunity."

"That's an unfair comparison," he said. "You would too."

She raised a finger to protest, but then found the words stall in her throat. Her eyebrow twitched. With a huff, she looked away. "Okay, you win."

"Let's move! We're wasting time out here," called Agent Hunt as she headed towards the passenger seat of her designated car.

With only a few more moments of hesitation, Cynthia bid her husband another temporary farewell and helped drag agent Hamawi back to the vehicle—he made sure to sit at the opposite end of the car as her. They loaded into the back hatch and fastened their seatbelts before taking off. Her teeth rattled in her head as they went off road around the crash site. If the shocks were any indication, the Magnadia Police Department could use more funding.

After they slowly corrected back onto the road, she was left to her own thoughts again, as none of the agents seemed keen on making conversation. They didn't act like anything more than coworkers, none of them giving the other a second glance. Maybe they were intimidated by her, but if they dealt with Oberon Terminus on the regular, it was unlikely. Or maybe the situation was just too dire.

The rebels had seized the capitol in Phenac. No doubt an effort by Wes's camp to keep it under wraps, journalists were being intimidated and denied entry to the palace. If Orre was mobilizing its citizens to fight, they had no way of knowing, and they were driving ever deeper into enemy territory. Sovereign or not.

Cynthia rolled Kiki's Poké Ball around in the Snag Machine's glove in a worthless display of self-comfort. It wasn't soothing. It just made her sick, but for some reason she couldn't keep her eyes off it. She took a few bites of the packaged food they'd been supplied. A Yache berry energy bar was all she could stomach, despite it having been at least twelve hours since her last meal.

"What does it mean to be Champion?" someone asked.

She put her head up, focusing her vision on the young woman right in front of her. Rui sat uncomfortably between the armed agents, their bulky frames boxing her in. Her finger tapped rhythmically against her knee.

Directly above her head was a small slit through the metal that let the morning sun penetrate the cabin, casting a rectangular spot on the floor. Cynthia met the young woman's eye through the ray of light.

"That's a loaded question," answered Cynthia. She tapped the button on Kiki's capsule to revert it to its smaller storage mode and stashed it in her coat pocket.

"I hear about you on the news. People love you and you're always doing something incredible," she said.

Cynthia put on a gentle smile—a forced one—to humor her. "Everyone has a role model. When I was a young girl, it was Myteline Hemmelig. She was one of Sinnoh's finest mythologists. I spent a lot more time in university reading her books than some of my actual class texts."

She stopped short, realizing that the agents had turned their ears towards her. Some looked away upon being discovered, but others were unashamed. They were offered a rare opportunity to hear a Champion speak personally.

"But," she continued, "that's a specific interest of mine. When the Pokémon League rebuilt the world, they wanted to create figures that _everyone_ could look up to."

"Isn't that the purpose of politicians?" asked Rui.

She wanted to point out that the highest politicians of the Pokémon League weren't elected leaders, instead existing within a self-perpetuating meritocracy. They were as far removed from the common people as possible. However, she cast a quick glance at the International Police and decided not to argue the nature of the League's oversight.

"In theory," Cynthia said. She skirted around the issue. "But there's a barrier between politicians and people. They exercise explicit control. We don't, and it sets us equal to regular citizens."

"You don't?" Her face contorted with a puzzled expression.

Cynthia shook her head. "We have no enumerated powers in the League's constitution. Any time we're dispatched or placed in a leadership role, it's ad hoc, and the League has override power on any of our decisions. We're functionally just citizen Pokémon Trainers who applied for public service."

"Then what makes you so important?"

In truth, she couldn't offer an answer. Though she was only a few years younger than the modern world, by the time she was a teenager, the League had already built the Champions as paragons of society. It felt as if they had always existed. She inherited an invisible power and dedicated herself to perpetuating its myth.

"They put faith in us, so we answer their prayers. They think we'll keep them safe, so we try to protect them," Cynthia explained, trying to put into words the hidden mechanics of their society. It was difficult. She had never lived in a world without a Champion—it was ingrained in her society—but Orre had lasted fifty years. "It's a very fragile system. But as long as we exist, people will convince themselves to support with one another, because _we_ would. It's why crime worldwide is only a fraction of what it was before the Coalition War."

One of the soldiers spoke up, the woman with the violet tufts. She asked, "What would happen if you disappeared?"

"I try not to think about it," Cynthia said with a small laugh, though she kept up a wary eye. Every time she looked at the agent, her anemic pale shade and jagged facial structure nestled in the back of her mind, next to the conversation with her husband the prior night.

Rui seemed unsettled by the woman as well and fidgeted in her seat. She didn't linger on it long, and said, "I can't imagine the stress, knowing things might collapse without you."

Cynthia leaned back into her seat. She took a few moments to draw breaths—the heat of the desert was already invading the transport, beading sweat on her forehead. The Snag Machine squeezed her arm to the point of aching.

Rui removed herself from the conversation, having learned what she needed but not wanting to involve herself with the International Police. However, Cynthia wasn't going to let the conversation die so easily. She couldn't solve this problem accompanied by faceless goons, and she refused to let the circumstances kill her spirit. It would do her good to build camaraderie and make this personal.

"Oh! I know!" She clapped her hands together and turned her attention to the embarrassed agent at the end of the line. "Agent Hamawi, tell me a bit about yourself."

He looked between his comrades, still absolutely mortified. "Do… do I have to?"

"In fact, I'll file a complaint if you don't."

"Well, I, uhh, I started writing a book. Been planning for a while," he said.

"What's it about?" she asked.

His face lit up. He tried to temper his excitement, but it was obvious that he rarely had an opportunity to share his passion. He began, "So it's about this girl. She's super old, like ancient, but she can't die and she's living in the modern day. Then she meets her own descendant and the two share stories about their culture. There's this big plot where they have to save the world from—"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. She withdrew a card from her pocket and handed it to him. "You had me sold at 'ancient'. Send for me whenever you finish a draft."

"Really?" He stared at the contact information on the card with wonder.

She hated stopping him while he was so eager to continue, but she wasn't lying. Spoilers would just ruin the fun. "Really. Anyone else interested in reading it?"

An older member of the squad raised his hand. His tawny brown skin transitioned into a short, fuzzy beard trimmed into intricate patterns. "I come from a tribe on the Grand Axis, so it's something I could 'get'. Long as you do it right."

"Right. I won't let you down." Hamawi scratched the back of his head.

Just like that, despite having kept to themselves the entire trip, their barriers were shattered. Cynthia went down the line and asked each of them to share. Some gave little more than tidbits—like the one with tufts—while others told full stories, prompting comments and laughter from their comrades. Even Hunt chimed in once, though she quickly returned her attention to the road.

She remembered Rui's words at the opening address. Joy was their final goal. She supposed the only way to create it was to have a little bit themselves.

* * *

Their next destination was alarmingly desolate. The truck pulled to a stop and unloaded in the shadow of a massive construct. It was a derailed steam locomotive, a monument to an age past. Cynthia struggled to find the railway it fell from. As her squad approached the building, her foot brushed over a strip of metal protruding barely a centimeter from the dirt. A century of neglect left it buried by stray particles.

What unsettled her was that the train was in use. Despite the wheels, containers, and other spare parts lying halfway buried in the dirt, the engine and its few attached cars were strung up with lights and signs. They had been modified with windows and doors for easier access, a wooden ramp leading up to the side of the engine. A few older-style petroleum pumps sat under an overhang by the train, indicating that it was repurposed as some sort of fuel station.

They split into two groups. The larger group was to move forward and investigate the station, while a smaller squad would stay behind to protect the cars. Rui remained with the latter group, as she was the only member of the expedition who was completely unarmed.

As they approached the train, Agent Hunt held out her arm to prevent Cynthia from advancing. The agent scowled.

"Stay behind me. I don't care if you've done this before, it's still a priority that you're out of harm's way," she said.

"I'm by far the best Trainer here." Cynthia held Rick's capsule in her palm, figuring him her best lead pick. His mobility and humanoid body shape were advantageous inside a man-made structure.

"Then we'll keep you as a last resort. That's an order."

Begrudgingly, she accepted her position behind Hunt and two support units as they pushed forward towards the train. The remaining agents spread out amidst the site. They weaved between the waylaid containers, Poké Balls and firearms drawn, anticipating Wes's men in the shadows.

Cynthia's group approached the pumps and the vehicles parked underneath the overhang. The violet tufted agent knelt to scan underneath them, and when cleared, Cynthia herself examined the junkyard. One was almost distastefully familiar, an older model Hriʂa sedan complete with its abhorrent, blocky frame. Sinnoh was positively infested with them in the 1990s. She touched a finger to its roof and, after pulling away in reflex at the burning metal, rubbed a thick layer of dust from her fingertip.

The place was abandoned, and for who knows how long. The developing Magnadia obsolesced waystations like this. At least it reassured her that they hadn't yet encountered danger, and after a final check of the pumps, she let the agent lead her to the train itself. The other searches had also come up empty.

Hunt signaled silently with members of the squad and concluded to enter the engine and furthest passenger car in two teams to converge in the middle. Shoulders and head low, Cynthia followed her posse up the engine ramp. Her eyes flicked all around, sweat beading in the growing heat. After receiving an all-clear from another agent, Hunt grabbed the steel door and made the metal screech as she pulled it open.

They entered the engine room. The steam-powered machinery had been removed to renovate it into a small consumer market—the metal pipes layering the walls and ceiling and the large gears towards the front end were all that remained of its original purpose. The market itself had the appearance of a vintage Unovan restaurant, complete with a checkered floor, simple circular bar stools, and a jukebox. A bar curved around half the establishment, stocked with alcohol and packaged goods. Its surface, along with the dine-in tables, was covered in smooth silver.

The agents approached slowly, only making quick moves to check potential hiding spots. With each false positive, Cynthia tensed. It was deathly quiet.

Hunt tapped the communicator in her ear. She said in a hushed voice, "Engine is clear. We're moving towards you."

The muffled voice of her husband answered with "roger" and their squad passed through to the next car, a water tender fitted for use in a storeroom. A large shelf split the windowless space in half, lined with packaged goods and barrels of other supplies. Dim lights hung from the ceiling.

As they closed in on the opposite end, Cynthia picked up a faint sound, a muffled voice. It slipped under the closed door and rang in her ears. Alarmed, Hunt pried open the door and shoved inside with her agents, handguns forward.

The car appeared to be a lounge room. Couches of various styles, with no apparent cohesion, lined the edges of the train. This car had rows of windows unlike the previous that let the sun envelop them, including a line of skylights down the center. Every surface shined gold with sunlight.

The opposite door opened. The agents' grips tightened around their guns, but they were greeted by the other half of the team, her husband leading them. Their split search had come up empty aside from the current car.

Sitting in the center of the floor was a middle-aged man. He was bound and gagged, tied to a table with metal wiring wrapped around his torso. A terrified expression painted his face and his breathing was erratic behind the cloth stuffed in his mouth.

"Secure him and keep watch for hostiles," said agent Hunt as she approached the bound man.

The woman tried to calm him down, but her words only made him more panicked. When she removed the gag from his mouth, he gasped, "No! Get away from here!"

The agents worked at the wires around the man until they loosened. On his shirt, revealed as the restraints fell, was the emblem of the Devon Corporation.

Cynthia felt the world slow. A bang, then the sudden shattering of glass between two opposite windows. The smell of gunpowder hit her nose. An agent grabbed her by the collar and slammed them both to the floor, and hell broke loose.

More of the car's windows burst as bullets flew overhead. The other agents managed to duck for cover. Glass shards burst inward on both sides and coated the floor of the train. More bullets impacted the metal hull of the car, too many for Cynthia to process. Her ears rang.

"Ambush! Protect the vehicles and the unarmed girl!" shouted Hunt into her communicator, contacting the team defending the transports. She was deafened under the gunfire. Hunt strained her voice to project a legally required declaration amidst the cacophony. "You are under arrest for acts of terrorism, or as suspected accomplices, and for drawing arms against International Police agents!"

They were pinned down, and Cynthia raced through her options. They had no idea where the attackers were firing from, and they couldn't peek without risking a stray bullet. She needed Rick to read the situation. However, Poké Ball stasis preserved a Pokémon in the exact position they were last recalled, and he was on his feet in the void. If he materialized, he'd be standing above window height and would be in grave danger.

Reaching beneath her cloak, she withdrew a Dusk Ball and fired the beam across the opposite end of the car, staining the gold with its red glow. An odd stone appeared within the light, cracked down its center, far shorter than the height of the window.

"Jeb, I need you!" Cynthia shouted across the train. "Draw their fire!"

The stone shook. It seeped with energy, spilling an unsettling mist across the floor, and from the crack rose the horrifying spiritual projection of her Spiritomb. He laughed a sinister cackle. When he grew to the height of the window, every gun outside seemed to gravitate to the visible target. Cynthia watched the face distort as bullets passed through, quickly reforming its smile after each hit. It was simply spiritual energy leaking from the keystone, so it was impervious to direct damage.

She took her opportunity to release her Lucario, whose body was built amongst the chaos. Jeb's distraction gave Rick enough time to regain consciousness in the line of fire and duck to the floor. A few members of the International Police released their own Pokémon. Magnemite, Clawitzer, Toucannon. They were all smart picks, having long-range capabilities. Rick growled under his breath and looked to her for further orders.

"Locate the attackers outside the train," said Cynthia.

He nodded, placed a paw atop her hand, and closed his eyes. The locks of fur behind his ears—hiding unique sensory organs within—rose from their resting position and vibrated against the pull of gravity. Cynthia, too, closed her eyes. An odd warmth ran through her Pokémon's body to his paw, transferred to her, where it raced up her arm to her chest.

Against the darkness of her eyelids, a watercolor painting emerged. The blurred forms of their attackers appeared all around them, all collected in groups of two or more. They seemed to brighten when they stood, implying they were hiding behind solid objects. That was impossible. There was no way they had managed to sneak up on them across the flat desert, and Hunt's squad hadn't found anything when they searched the waylaid junk. Unless…

"Hunt! Lance!" she called, earning the attention of both the agent and her husband, who were both ducked behind a couch. "They're _inside_ the transport containers! We need to smoke them out!"

"And do either of you world-class Trainers have a brilliant strategy?" the woman shouted back.

Cynthia tried to ignore the red seeping from the leading agent's shirt. Evidently, in the half-second before their squad ducked for cover, a shot had grazed her shoulder.

Lance came up with a solution first. "If I can get an opening, I can get my Dragonite into the air to rain fire. Can you give us cover?"

Cynthia's heart sunk in her chest at the suggestion. Pokémon were built to withstand injuries, and to grow stronger from battle, but humans were exceptionally vulnerable in comparison. To attack them directly was to endanger their lives.

"I can only provide a few seconds," said Cynthia, though her unstated objection was audible.

"That's all I need. Hunt, have a few agents hold down this area, and the rest of us will spread out."

"Affirmative," the woman said.

"I promise to keep damage to a minimum," he said to Cynthia, recognizing the conflict in her voice.

That's all she could rely on. A promise.

In a moment of relative silence, when the hostiles reloaded their weapons and the gunfire slowed, Hunt rose from her kneeling position. Her arm angled forward as if her body moved on synchronized gears. She took one shot. A scream rang out, and she quickly slammed to the ground again. Unable to see the results, Cynthia could only hope she fired to disable instead of kill.

The other agents took their own shots, some barely managing to return fire before the barrage began again. One took a shot through his arm, dropping his gun, and another fell over in panic after a bullet grazed his ear. Hamawi crawled over to the former, quickly disinfecting and tying bandages around the wound from a medical kit hanging around his waist.

The active Pokémon shot back. Clawitzer launched a Water Pulse through the window; Toucannon lobbed Rock Blasts in a light arc; Magnemite, resistant to gunfire due to its metal body, aimed a Charge Beam true and knocked out another assailant.

Cynthia quickly switched her Pokémon, recalling Jeb and replacing him with Boss, her Roserade. He was short enough to avoid stray fire, and on her command, he prepared a Petal Dance. Petals flaked from the full bouquets on his arms and began swirling beneath the roof of the train car. The speed of the storm picked up with each rotation as Boss focused his energy further, forcing the agents to hold on to the nearest object. As the wind reached hurricane speed, it burst.

The petals flew outward in all directions and shattered the remaining windows. They completely blocked the view of the gunmen outside. The bullets slowed again, creating the opportunity her husband needed.

Lance had already released his three Dragonite. The elder and both sons emerged from the neon, flapped their wings, and took off through the skylights, raining glass into the train car. Their roars overpowered the resumed barrage, and Cynthia watched the three magnificent creatures circle in and out of view, firing Flamethrowers at the ground below.

The petals were about to dissipate. Cynthia recalled Boss but kept Rick active, then bolted across the floor towards the door. Hunt and a few agents followed her lead across the gangway as they raced back through the tender.

A man appeared from behind the central shelf and raised his weapon. Rick slammed his fist to the ground faster than Cynthia could give a verbal order. His Force Palm rattled the floor of the train, causing the man to trip and misfire his weapon into the stacks of food and supplies.

Agent Hunt rushed forward and grabbed the man's wrist. His gun was thrown across the floor, picked up by another agent, and safety unloaded. She swept the man's leg with one of her own, and when he toppled, she quickly withdrew a set of handcuffs and forced his hands behind his back. In just a few seconds, he was completely subdued.

More screams rang around them, now more plentiful than the gunfire—Cynthia could hear the roar of fire as her husband's Pokémon covered the battlefield. At this point, she almost thought it'd be safer to keep inside the train, but they couldn't risk an attack from both sides. They needed to get outside and spread out.

As they reemerged in the engine car, a monstrous appendage descended like a guillotine. Cynthia barely threw herself to the side to avoid the strike, which cut cleanly into the checkerboard tile. It was two meters of plates, spines, and claws ready to tear them apart, and it walked through the bullets fired by the International Police.

As the agents emptied more rounds, Lance took charge. "Get clear and rout the hostiles outside! Cynthia and I will engage."

If Hunt had any objections, she quickly stowed them away and rushed for the door. The Armaldo's protruding eyes followed the agents and it managed to wrench its claw free from the floor to deliver a second blow. It swung right towards Agent Hunt.

"Rick, Counter!" Cynthia shouted.

Her Lucario growled as confirmation, planted himself before the creature, and put up his arms in an x-shaped motion. They burned with his focused energy—Rick's cellular pathways fired to send everything he had into his forelimbs. His fur stood on end.

When the Armaldo's claw struck, his power exploded and sent the creature skidding across the room, cracks evident on its giant claw. This bought enough time for the International Police to clear the room, leaving the two Champions to their battle.

Lance offered his Flygon, whose emergence from the materialization beam was punctuated with a garbled screech. He ordered Dragon Claw, and the creature launched forward, tucking itself into a spiraling flight after an initial beat of its wings. It raked its claws through the opponent's frontal armor, but it only managed to pull a few scales loose. Off-colored fluid dripped from the minor wound.

The Armaldo didn't slow. It brought its intact claw to bear and speared through the Flygon's diamond-shaped wing. Rattling its jaw in triumph, it threw the enemy Pokémon aside and charged for the Trainers.

This wasn't a sanctioned battle. As a professional Trainer, restraint was drilled into Cynthia until it became instinct—aiming not to exhaust the opponent but to hurt them was a violation of all ethical practice. However, she could see the intent in this Pokémon's eyes. It would hurt them. It would kill them.

After only a quick glance at the Flygon sprawled on the floor, Cynthia gave her command. "Aura Sphere!"

Rick held his paws to the metal spike on his chest. It shined, and as he removed his paws, he withdrew a pool of life energy from within the metal. The dense weapon in hand, he spun on his hind legs to build momentum before pitching it directly at the Armaldo's head.

It burst on impact, but it barely left a scratch. Its charge bore down on them. Lance wrapped himself around her and dove behind the bar to evade. This time, the claw sheared the metal wall.

"We knew you'd come here," spoke a familiar voice, twisted with malice. Masir emerged from the piping, a Poké Ball gripping in his shaking, resting palm.

Cynthia and her husband pulled themselves up behind the bar, eyeing Masir across the room. The Armaldo tore its claw free but hesitated. It was waiting for a command.

"You know the consequences," said Lance. "Surrender now. If you do, your sentence will be lightened."

The man burst into laughter. He nearly choked on his own breaths, that patronizing howl cutting through the gunfire outside. "And you said you weren't the League. He was right. You really are puppets."

"More people will be in danger if we don't stop you. The League might not care, but I do." Cynthia stepped forward to challenge him, keeping his Pokémon in her sight line as she rounded the counter.

"Don't even try. You're no different than them," Masir growled. When the man tilted his head, the Armaldo lumbered forward.

She shifted back to her battle mindset, tuning him out. She had fought Steven's Armaldo multiple times during the World Trial, and she knew that its scales made it nearly impervious to direct damage. They had to take a separate approach or else they'd waste precious time attempting to wear it down. Her eyes were drawn to the haemolymph seeping through its scales where Flygon had cut through.

All they needed was a single look. No words, nor signals, nor confirmations. Cynthia and Lance attuned their minds to a frequency only they understood, subtly learned through years of spars, tournaments, and joint missions. They launched.

"Power-Up Punch!"

"Dragon Claw!"

The blue-furred Pokémon leapt a meter off the ground, reeled back an arm, and delivered a glancing blow to the side of the monster's head. It didn't deal damage, as expected, but it was enough to stagger the creature temporarily.

Flygon, which had recovered despite its injured wing, pushed off its powerful hind legs to throw another savage claw. It buried deep into the same spot as before, more scales chipped away, and by the time the Armaldo managed to respond in kind, the Dragon-type Pokémon had already hovered to safety.

Another Power-Up Punch reflected off the creature's head. Though they were inherently ineffective, each successful hit sent a surge through Rick's body. He moved faster. He struck harder. Locked in a dance with the larger Pokémon, he gradually gained the upper hand and provided yet another opportunity for his battle partner to chip the creature's armor away.

Their opportunity appeared. With one more Dragon Claw, a massive spurt of fluid burst from the Armaldo's front plating. They had ripped open its exoskeleton, leaving a wide window to the flesh underneath.

"Finish it!" shouted Cynthia.

Just as he emerged from a dodge, narrowly avoiding the giant claw that splintered the wood and metal of the bar, Rick torqued his body into his final attack. The force applied as he slammed his paw directly into the opening was strong enough fracture the Armaldo's entire carapace. The creature flew. It crashed into a giant gear at the front of the train and collapsed, limp, into a pile.

Masir hadn't registered how quickly his impervious weapon was proven otherwise. He broke for the door. He didn't take more than a few steps before a shot rang out. It passed cleanly through his shoulder and he collapsed into an iron-red pool, knocked unconscious by the shock. The engine room was still, and outside, the gunfire had ceased.

Agent Hunt's gun was holstered when she reappeared in the main doorway. She said, "Area secure. Agent Hamawi is handling the injuries, including three of our own."

"No fatalities?" she asked.

The woman didn't humor her with an answer, but the mood told of a clean operation. She tended to Masir's injury herself, first removing the bullet and then dressing the wound. Afterward, she cuffed the man and carried him out of the engine.

As Cynthia prepared to regroup, Rick barked in warning, followed by a thunderous footstep. A shadow engulfed her and her breath escaped. The Armaldo swung its claw in a wide arc.

"Cynthia!" Lance screamed.

She wasn't sure how she reacted so fast. An Ultra Ball appeared in her palm-they were part of the mission supplies, and she'd had a chance to calibrate them to her PC account before they shipped out-and the Snag Machine's display read "LINKED". She flung the capsule. It tapped the creature's body right before its bladed appendage could cleave her in two.

The Armaldo, frozen in place, was quickly reduced to nothing when the neon beam enveloped it. It shook once, twice, three times. It clicked.

Cynthia fell flat on her rump, her heart beating painfully in her chest. Her breathing returned, but it was too fast. She was hyperventilating. Death stared her in the face. She wasn't prepared to look. Even as that vision faded, she still couldn't collect herself.

Surprisingly, it was Agent Hunt who reached her first. The woman held Cynthia's back and chest with her palms, letting her slowly regain some sense. Lance dropped to his knees beside them.

Hunt must have felt her chest steady under her palms. She asked, "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. My thanks." Cynthia pushed some hair out of her face.

"Of course," said Hunt. She looked away when Cynthia raised an eyebrow to her. "You were a… valuable asset in that engagement. I'd like to keep you in peak condition."

Cynthia felt her eyes wander, her heartbeat still painful, and looked at the Ultra Ball lying motionless on the floor. She had just stolen someone's Pokémon. Even though it was in self-defense, and even if the Armaldo would receive better medical attention in their care, her use of the Snag Machine was a burden.

Lance looked past the ball to the broken gear. "I'm sorry you had to do that."

"I'll have to," she said. She needed to be prepared to employ it against Wes. Hopefully, it was only to regain her own friend, rather than rob him of his own.

"My agents are almost finished," Hunt said as she got to her feet. "Let's clear out."

Cynthia was finally able to pull herself up by clasping her husband's arm. Without another word, she turned from the broken gear and followed him out the door into the desert heat. The day had arrived in full force, and she could barely withstand it beneath her multiple layers and the machine on her arm. It felt even heavier now. They tracked back to the trucks, which were successfully defended in the skirmish.

Their assailants sat on the ground, hands cuffed behind their backs, and the agents carried more from the burning wreckage. Flames still licked the dirt and mirrored the crash site earlier that morning. Many of the Orrans were scorched on both clothing and skin, and Hamawi couldn't work fast enough to apply ointment and bandages. She could see they were in pain, but none of them had lost their lives. It was a small victory.

Hunt laid Masir against the side of the truck. She gently slapped his cheek to induce consciousness. One. Two. Three. He coughed awake at the third, his teeth clenching in pain once the wound registered in his rousing brain.

"Has your leader ordered the people to arm themselves?" questioned Agent Hunt.

After a few more rounds of coughs, Masir said, "Give me a reason to talk."

"You're in no position to negotiate." She laid a palm on her handgun again, and the man's eyes flicked between it and her face.

Rui, who had dismounted the truck to investigate, stepped between them. She didn't bother asking permission, and though Agent Hunt tried to drag her clear, Cynthia grabbed her wrist and shook her head. After a second of hesitation, she stepped to the front of the truck to report the encounter on the radio.

The two Orrans talked without words at first. Rui dropped to her knees to meet the man at eye level, and they burned in the sunlight until Masir took in a breath.

"You betrayed him," he spat.

"No." The conviction behind her response put him off-guard. She said, "When he involved innocent people and Pokémon, he betrayed me."

"So, we should just let the League get away with how they treated us?"

"No. No, we shouldn't. But think about what we've been through." She gestured outward with her hands, to the burning wasteland all around them. "We've suffered for decades, and we don't deserve another war."

The young woman looked to Cynthia for assistance. She kneeled beside her to also see Masir eye-to-eye. When she had last seen him, he spoke in a strong tone against Unova's transgressions, but she could see now that he was just a terrified young man. He couldn't have been much older than Leon.

"You defended him at the conference," he said. "Why?"

"It's my duty to believe in truth. I'll never-" She cut herself off, realizing that she could no longer say those words with confidence. "I'll almost never forsake it."

"Then why side with them?"

"I don't do this to justify the Pokémon League." Cynthia didn't mince her words, as if her thoughts had boiled in her head for years and were just now spilling over. Lance placed a hand on her shoulder as she spoke, standing in solidarity. "It's a corrupt, self-servicing institution, and I don't think the old nations understood the weight of their actions when they ceded control. But a Champion has the ability to keep people safe _and_ change the world, and if the League was foolish enough to grant me that power, then I'll use it. Will you believe in me?"

Looking between Rui and himself, he couldn't seem to comprehend what she was telling him. He was on the verge of tears. He swallowed a lump in his throat and directed his words at the Champion. "I have one condition."

Cynthia nodded. "Anything."

"Would you deliver a message to Terminus? About November 11th," he said.

"I will," she answered. It wasn't her place to speak for Orran people, but she could carry their sentiment right to the CEO's desk. "Write a letter. I can pass it along."

He let out a long breath. By the time Hunt returned from reporting the encounter, Masir was ready to explain their plan. Another agent recorded his testimony on a digital device.

"Wes has made it to Phenac by now, and he wasn't planning on locking down the city, except the palace. We haven't ordered anyone to arm except our own. Y-yet."

"What are your numbers?" Hunt asked.

"We aren't actually that many. Maybe 200 around Phenac, and only about 50 assigned to the palace itself. If you want to get into the city, you might still be able to," Masir explained, stuttering over multiple words. "He wanted you to chase."

"If he hasn't ordered civilians yet, then they're going to surround us when we try to infiltrate the capitol building," said Cynthia, flatly.

Masir looked to the ground. "Yeah."

Lance was right when he said this was a game. Wes didn't want them to run the time out, forcing him to kill hostages. He wanted them to fight and lose. He could have easily staged his coup in Phenac without the summit, but he put himself on the biggest stage possible to prove that he couldn't just coexist with the Pokémon League—he could beat them. This was an invitation to his battlefield.

She looked to her husband and Agent Hunt, who each had to process the information. Their time was running out, and Stone, the Orran council, and even Cynthia's partner Pokémon were going to die if they didn't act.

Cynthia was already playing the Pokémon League's game. She couldn't be afraid to play another. Though the disadvantage was mounting, she wouldn't forsake her duty. The people were counting on her to set things right.

It seemed both Lance and Hunt agreed, judging by their faces. They were going to push forward.

Her husband asked, "How do we handle the detainees?"

Agent Hamawi was almost finished dressing the last assailant's burns, and Cynthia looked them over. They couldn't just leave them to die in the summer heat but ferrying them to Phenac was hardly a better option. She followed Agent Hunt's gaze towards the abandoned vehicles at the pumps.

"What's your idea?" asked Cynthia.

The woman furrowed her brows, almost taken aback that Cynthia sought her opinion. The woman said, "Even if they want us inside, we'll need cover to avoid complications. We can assign a small group to take the vans back to Magnadia with the prisoners while we commandeer those."

She nodded to the violet tufted woman, who walked over to the Hriʂa sedan and procured a lockout tool from her vest. After coercing the door open, she began playing with the wires beneath the driver-side console.

Hunt turned back to them and said, "You have fifteen minutes. Eat, nap, do what you need, but after that, we're moving out."

Rui stood to walk back towards the train, leaving Masir and the other Orrans to be moved into the police transports. She brushed Cynthia as she passed, stopping in her tracks. From where they were standing, the pumps were in their sight. Witnessing the woman silently hotwiring a vehicle, that discomfort burrowed its way deeper into Cynthia's head.

Rui leaned in close. The words rolled soft off her lips, barely a whisper, and they hung in the stifling air. "Black aura."

She kept on her way, leaving Cynthia frozen in the heat.

* * *

Night, and its accompanying chill, had blanketed the Orran desert. In shadow, one of the mesas came to life.

The monolithic walls of Phenac erupted from the ground. Though most of the city was hidden behind the defenses, tall spires grew to pierce the sky, and searchlights fired into the clouds. It was a beacon for all travelers, an oasis in the vast wasteland.

Cynthia was jammed in the backseat of the blocky sedan, her warning signals on overdrive as they approached the city. It was only thirty minutes out when they began to see other vehicles, likely residents of Phenac itself moving in and out despite the League's area traffic order. It was all the better to blend in.

The stolen-borrowed-cars carrying the agents were separated by time. Fifteen minutes between the first and second, ten between the second and third, and twenty between the third and fourth, to seem natural. Cynthia's ride was second. According to Lance, his first group was already inside the city and had scouted a rendezvous point.

They pulled to a stop behind a few other cars lined up at the main gate, and Cynthia kept her head down. The other agents in her car wore casual clothing they had found in the gas station's storeroom. However, even in inconspicuous attire, she couldn't hide the most recognizable face and hair on the planet.

A beret was held her way. The violet-tufted woman said nothing along with her offer, keeping herself intently focused on the window. Cynthia didn't take it until the woman placed it on the seat between them. After using a band to tie her waist-length hair into what could vaguely qualify as a bun, she flipped the beret inside-out to hide the alarming red and pulled it over her eyes. It would have to do.

When it was their turn at the gate, an armed soldier accosted them for their papers. The only Orran agent among them was in the passenger's seat to boost authenticity-the group's demographics could easily arouse suspicion. The automatic rifle hanging off the soldier's shoulders sat eerily close to her window. Cynthia pulled the beret down further.

The man lingered on the forged documentation that Agent Hunt offered him. Any moment now, he would rip it to pieces and draw his weapon. She waited for the sound of the discharge. But the man simply handed the papers back and stepped away. Whatever falsified information they gave him was good enough, and apparently, they weren't any more suspicious than average foreigners intimidated by his rifle.

"Get to where you're going. No one's allowed out on the streets tonight," said the heavily-accented guard. He shook his gun to emphasize his point.

Agent Hunt thanked him, putting on a surprisingly casual demeanor by biting her lower lip and fidgeting in her seat. After a few more checks, he signaled them to proceed.

When they emerged onto the streets of Phenac, Cynthia was blinded by the city, which burned brighter than both the infernos she'd witnessed that day. The sandstone buildings were alight from within, and they passed by one of the gigantic searchlights firing upward. Each turn they took revealed more sources of illumination. Other cars, electric signs, flaming torches, lamps, all together letting Phenac shine to every corner of Orre.

Despite the light, and just had the guard had implied, the streets were eerily empty of walking pedestrians. Even more unsettling, there were no Pokémon. None at all.

Canals were dug through the city that traced the roads, pooling in large fountains on almost every other street. It really was an oasis. As the car crossed a small bridge, Cynthia could see it was one of a series, and the waterway flowed continuously towards the center of the city. For a few short seconds, she witnessed the palace.

It was more like a fortress. Sandstone ramparts stretched between its corner towers, with another complete perimeter on the inside as well. Deep in the center of the palace, a towering citadel stood over its walls, painted red. Due to the intensity of the city lights, it was almost the same color as a materialization beam.

The streets went dark as their car ventured far from the illuminated downtown. They were in some kind of rundown slum that was only made more chilling by the curfew order. Farther, farther, farther from the palace they rode, until the streets were all but black. The area looked uninhabited. Hunt pulled into the open garage of a rundown building, its windows boarded and patched. When they disembarked, and when the garage door was pulled closed behind him, a single dull lamp switched on.

"That's number two. Is everyone healthy?" asked Lance as he stepped from the shadow of his own vehicle. His casual outfit included Masir's poncho.

"Mostly," said Cynthia. "How did you locate a safehouse so quickly?"

He pointed to Rui, who was part of his group. She said, "I know the city. No one lives here, so Wes and I sometimes used places like this when we were escaping trouble."

"And the guards weren't suspicious?" Lance added a serious air to his second question, which made the room hang in silence.

"No. We're clear for the time being," said Agent Hunt.

"Then all of you head upstairs to get some rest. We've been out for most of the day, and we can't go onward until everyone rests. We'll leave at 0400 tomorrow morning."

This was their last chance to rescue the hostages. Cynthia wanted to protest, to say that they couldn't ride so close to the ultimatum's deadline, but she couldn't deny that she was in horrible condition. It had been a long day.

"There's some bedding upstairs," Rui said as she helped the agents empty food supplies from one car. She walked over to the door, which led to the remainder of the dilapidated building, and pushed it open. "It's old and dusty, and Wes hated staying here, so I thought he'd be unlikely to narrow this place down."

The rest of the International Police excused themselves upstairs, exhausted from the travel, the heat, and the firefight at the gas station. Cynthia moved alongside them, discovering a group of molded mattresses laying on the single-room second floor. The smell burned her nostrils. She unlatched the Snag Machine from her arm and set it by a mattress, claiming it as her own.

She stretched out, facing the ceiling, the hard bedding stabbing her back. Though the commotion continued for a while as the remaining two pieces of the convoy located the safehouse, eventually the agents settled, and the house fell to complete silence. Only the barest light filtered through window boards.

A pair of footsteps climbed up the stairs past the second floor. Cynthia, hands behind her head, let almost an hour pass, finding herself furiously unable to slip away. She pulled herself off the mattress towards the stairs.

As she dragged up a floor, her pupils constricted. Her husband sat by the only open window-from the third story, the capitol palace was visible, and the city's rays burned a shape onto the floor. Cynthia took a seat next to him, both within the light.

"Keeping watch?" she asked, drinking in the gentle wind blowing through the frame.

"There's no one better," he said. There was an unusual reservation in his voice, but she dismissed it as the stress of the day.

"Just because you don't _need_ sleep doesn't mean you shouldn't. It helps clear your head." Cynthia tried to fight against the creeping chill of the night. The house had a fireplace, but in an abandoned district, using it would no doubt give away their position.

"Hence why you're sitting up here with me rather than downstairs?"

"You're an exception. The kids too, when they aren't causing problems," she said, to which he responded with unconvinced chuckle. She wrapped an arm around his back and leaned into him, her cheek pressing onto his shoulder.

"What will you do if we face him tomorrow?" he asked.

"When," she corrected. She wouldn't even exercise the possibility that they failed. That the hostages would die. That Orre would be drawn into a war with the Pokémon League. They couldn't allow it to happen.

He accepted the assertion and repeated, " _When_ we face him, what will you do? You said yourself that you aren't representing the League."

"I don't know." It was her honest answer. She could barely comprehend what she was doing, as if she was running on autopilot and the one thing she could trust was her instinct. "I'll do what I think is right. If Terminus doesn't agree with that, he shouldn't have given me this power."

"You're braver than I am."

"What?" She turned to him, studying his expression. Nothing reflected off his face-maybe the vaguest hint of sadness hid in his eyes.

His gaze dropped from the window to the glow on the room's floor. It was merely an arm of the palace, and if the lights still shined, the ray would never take a new position. He said, "I think… I'm afraid of change. As if somehow peace and change are mutually exclusive."

As he trailed off, he looked to her. This time, it wasn't hidden. She peered through his pupils to a part of him she'd not often seen before, one lacking armor or confidence or strength.

"I was comfortable upholding the League's status quo, even though Orre's people suffered. Maybe Wes wouldn't have done what he did if I'd also spoken out." He leaned into her some, finally recognizing the contact. She felt him perk up slightly, his back straightening. "I think that's why I offered to share what I know. I can't lead the world if I'm so afraid to budge."

"I guess we're both learning to budge, then," she said.

They held each other and gazed at the palace, watching it shine through the night. Never did its lights dim or vanish, calling them towards the final day. She checked her Pokétch. 10:07 PM. Only twenty-four hours remained.

A human shape split the light down its center, and when Cynthia looked up, she could make out a figure standing atop the house across the street. The palace lights burned behind them. Most of their features weren't visible, as they faced away from the light, but the city reflected off their striking, violet hair.

Cynthia shot to her feet, already on high alert, and Lance followed her lead. He examined the woman across the street.

"We've been compromised?" He gritted his teeth and made to shout for their allies downstairs. She motioned for him to stay quiet, and he hesitated.

Her Pokétch lit up at the same time that Lance's phone buzzed in his pocket. The message on her wrist, sent by an unknown number chilled the blood in her veins. Her husband's reaction said he received the same.

" _Follow me and don't make a scene, unless you want to blow cover."_

When she looked up, the woman jumped. Cynthia gasped as she plummeted to the ground, and then watched in confusion when she tucked into a roll and took off down the dark street.

They couldn't risk the operation and endanger agents, especially so far from any backup. It was a terrible idea to isolate themselves, and she knew this, but she would rather put herself in harm's way than someone else. Lance seemed to agree. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her tight against him. The sudden loss of control surprised her, but she wasn't given time to think-he leapt from the window after the woman.

Cynthia covered her mouth to prevent herself from screaming. The fall was barely a few seconds before the force of the impact vibrated through her, though Lance absorbed most of the fall himself. As expected, he wasn't even scratched. He gently lowered her to her feet and the two took off running after the rogue agent.

She clearly didn't want them to fall behind, as no matter how many turns through the empty district they made, she remained in sight. They strayed further and further from the safehouse. Eventually, the "agent" began to slow.

They trailed behind her, Cynthia by her left shoulder and Lance over her right. She didn't acknowledge them.

"Who are you, and how did you impersonate an IP agent?" Cynthia asked. "What do you want from us?"

The woman's lips curled into a grin, though she kept her eyes forward. She led them further down the abandoned road. "Who _I_ am isn't important. But Master has been dying to speak to you."

A familiar feeling crawled up Cynthia's back, and the hairs on her neck stood on end. She held Opie's Poké Ball in her hand. He was her quickest escape route.

The giggle that escaped the unknown agent rattled her. Its girlish chords belied a sinister undertone. Who exactly was this woman?

"Are the agents safe?" asked Lance.

"I couldn't care less about them. They're insignificant," she sang, "but if you'd really like to fail this operation, that can be arranged."

He held his tongue. They continued their silent path into darkness, already a world away from the other agents. Cynthia could only hope they noticed something was wrong. For a second time she was at someone else's mercy.

However, when they turned one more corner, she was gone. The woman vanished before their eyes, leaving them scrambling on a barren street. Had they been lured into an ambush? Were the International Police under attack now that the Champions weren't there to defend them?

The street was completely shadowed, the buildings around shielding them from all the city's fire. Only the searchlights, far in the distance, whispered over the roofs. However, a functioning streetlamp flashed over the cracked pavement. It struggled for life, and every few seconds it cut out. Within each flash, she caught a glimpse of glinting metal. An iron mask.

It was circular, etched with curved markings and obscuring all humanity beneath. It floated above silvered robes, the body beneath clothed in black. A voice whispered from within the mask. It was barely human. Garbled and processed, it was somehow more imposing than even Terminus itself.

" _You tread a dangerous path."_

Cynthia could feel the air torn from her lungs as they spoke. If she had Rui's sense, she was certain this person's aura would be devoid of all color. Lance couldn't muster a response. He also had a hand around a Poké Ball, ready for battle, but was completely locked in place.

" _You've been curious lately, Dr. Masuta,"_ they said. The voice might have been male, but Cynthia couldn't be certain. _"You're researching things you shouldn't be."_

That's why the feeling in her neck was familiar. It was the same one from the hotel room. She finally found her voice enough to respond. "Why are you spying on me?"

" _It's only fair,"_ the masked man said. _"You have more knowledge of me than I'm comfortable with."_

She had never met this ghastly figure before. If he was interested in her research, he must have been involved in the ruin sites. The revelation unwound in her mind.

"You were the one who snuck inside the Ruins of Alph." Cynthia's uneven breathing underscored her attempt to fight this person's presence. That teenager's chance encounter had set her off on this path, and the knowledge that someone had broken into the ruins drove her forward. It was a scramble for the world's mysteries. She hadn't expected the perpetrator to show themselves.

A flash of recognition set on Lance's face. "And your purple-haired lackey. The kid said he was being followed by someone working within the Rocket Syndicate."

" _Excellent detective work."_ His hands appeared from within his flowing robes, and he softly clapped. Each sound was thunder, the storm lurking ever closer.

"What are you interested in those ruins?" asked Cynthia.

" _I'm interested in far more."_ He beckoned them forward. When they didn't take his direction, he made no visible reaction. _"An unimaginable discovery awaits."_

Cynthia had already found strange connections. The Ruins of Alph. The Snowpoint Temple. Shalour's temple. The Unown. The pendant. What exactly did this mysterious person know? What exactly did Lance know? She asked her husband, "What is he talking about?"

She was almost certain he would refuse, just as he always had, and keep her in the dark. But he upheld the promise. He said, "There is a treasure I am sworn to protect. My clan has guarded it for millennia. I cannot allow you to claim it for yourself."

A treasure buried for millennia. Something that could endanger the entire planet, and had prompted his pledge of secrecy, just as she had concealed the godlike Pokémon at Spear Pillar from public knowledge. It was something she couldn't even imagine.

" _I feared you would say that. I will make any sacrifice to unlock it, and I will let no one stop me. Not even you."_ The way he lingered on the final word unsettled her. He extended a black hand forward. A sign of peace, but from a chaotic man she couldn't comprehend. He left his arm outstretched when neither stepped forward. _"Which is why I called you here. A deal."_

"A deal?" asked Lance.

" _If you pledge to cooperate, I can guarantee your safety. If you don't, then the world will change."_ He paused. _"Without you."_

The masked man's hand remained open. Through the distortion, Cynthia heard a strain in his words. _"Please. It's the only way you'll be safe."_

Her husband's promise meant she was part of his mission. She didn't fully understand what was at play, but she believed the man she chose to spend her life with. She believed a fellow Champion and his mission to keep the world at peace. No matter the threat to her life, her answer was absolute.

"I refuse."

Cynthia denied his offer with conviction. The masked man was stalwart.

She justified herself further. "If what you say is true, and if my husband thinks it's dangerous, it's my duty to keep that treasure safe. For the sake of everyone."

His arm dropped. He stood inert under the flickering light, his mask veiling all emotion. The intense moment felt an eternity, as those in the dark and he in the light warred with each other. His final words traveled straight through Cynthia's heart, and they rang in her ears long after they escaped his mask.

" _That's a shame."_

One last flicker and he was gone. When the light returned, the street was empty.

A freezing wind passed through the intersection, making Cynthia shudder violently. She collapsed to her knees as all tension in her muscles evaporated. Her husband's own body was shaking.

They remained alone on the street for a few minutes. When she finally managed to stand again, she stumbled in the opposite direction of the streetlamp.

"Where are you going?" asked Lance.

"Back to the safehouse. We shouldn't jeopardize the mission," she said.

He accepted her answer and followed at her side, supporting her under the arm. They slowly tracked back through the streets of Phenac. They still had a mission to complete. But once it was clear, a new mission waited for her.

The man in the iron mask. A buried treasure. The ruin sites. She was part of an elaborate game, whether or not she asked to be. But she wouldn't let her husband shoulder it all himself. This world was in their hands. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
>  **The Man in the Iron Mask. Art by me.**   
> 
> 
>   
> Behold! The first action-focused chapter. This is somehow the longest one yet, but has the fewest number of individual scenes.
> 
> Writing this was tumultuous. So many moving parts intersected here, between what was established in this story and the previous as well, and it caused a lot of edits in previous chapters to maintain consistent themes. I had to drastically change what was in my original outline to accommodate.
> 
> Behind the scenes, I was well into Chapter 4 by the time this story was first published, but it went longer than expected. As it stands, I'm still not completed Chapter 5, and I can't guarantee it'll release next week on regular schedule, but it's still tentatively scheduled for August 24th. Check the series profile for updates, and I'll do my best.
> 
> It all ends soon. Come back next time for Chapter 5 [Finale]: There's Always Tomorrow. Thanks for reading.


	5. [Finale] There's Always Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The International Police prepare to enter the palace to confront Wes and his revolutionaries once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by [ShonnaRose.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShonnaRose/pseuds/ShonnaRose)

The masked man killed her dreams.

Cynthia could only lie in her bed and stare at the ceiling, her eyes flicking between boarded windows and her hairs rising at every soft noise. Lance set down beside her, but the comfort he awarded couldn't overcome a sinking fear.

That man had the resources to deceive the Johto Heritage Foundation. He could subvert top of the line security and trained guards. He could plant a spy within the International Police. The extent of his methods terrified her, as did his message.

The world would move forward without them.

His actions proved it wasn't an empty threat. She shivered in place, and Lance wrapped his arms around her. They held like that for a while.

When the rest of the International Police roused in the early hours of the morning, at least partially rested for their efforts, Cynthia could only try—and fail horribly, according to her husband—to conceal her sluggish posture. Her spine hunched at an awkward angle.

Agent Hunt had far bigger concerns. She screamed across the safehouse, loud enough to give away their position.

"What do you mean one of our agents is _missing_?! Everyone made it to the safehouse!" The woman's blood rushed to her head, reddening her face with anger. Her subordinates cowered. When she couldn't coax an answer from them, she directed her rage at the Champions. She stabbed a finger into Lance's chest. "You. You were on watch."

"I apologize, but I don't know where she is," he lied. He held twitching fingers at his side, likely hoping that the woman was too incensed to notice.

With the masked man's threats still omnipresent, they agreed not to tell the agents what transpired. They weren't going to risk bringing the International Police to harm, and neither was sure how to explain the encounter. The knowledge of that treasure, whatever it was, would stay between them.

"How could you not know?" pressed Hunt, leaning further into him. "This entire operation is in jeopardy."

Cynthia placed a hand on her shoulder, the woman cranking her head to fire an indignant glare. The Champion wasn't deterred. "We haven't yet been discovered. Regardless of if something went wrong, we'll be leaving immediately."

The woman's chest swelled, about to explode, but she mindfully decompressed as she surveyed her reading agents. Cynthia understood. It was the threat to their wellbeing that set her off, as it was her duty as their leader to keep them from harm. For as much they came to blows, they truly were on the same mission.

Hunt called everyone together to explain their next move. She laid out the battle plan. "We're operating on the assumption that the hostages are completely safe until 2200 hours tonight. Since we don't know exactly where the hostages are kept, it's a better option to defeat the rebels before the time elapses and force the hostages' release."

Even though Rui claimed he had no moral hold-ups about harming, even killing, the hostages, Wes wouldn't want to trigger war with the Pokémon League early. His men were preparing to lead a new nation to battle, and they needed as much time as possible.

One of Hunt's subordinates, the bearded man, revealed a floorplan from an intelligence report as a visual aid. Hunt pointed to larger conference halls near the front of the palace. Those areas were principal for governance, and the insurgents would have little use for the private areas of the estate.

"The rebels are most likely congregating here," she said. "We're going to split into two groups. A larger offensive unit will move towards the grand hall here and engage the rebels head-on to draw their attention. A secondary unit will take a less obvious route and flank from the other side. This should give us the advantage we need to make up our numbers deficit."

They organized the units. The covert team was five people, and with their numbers already thinned by splitting at the abandoned station and the missing agent, that left only ten to face the rebel forces. They were assigned one by one, barring Rui.

When Cynthia was placed on the main team, Lance contested. "I should be on the front lines, not her."

He was surprised, then, when Hunt continued the assignment. She placed him on her same squad, alongside Hamawi and seven other agents.

"Isn't it safer to keep us separate?" Cynthia asked.

"It is, but—" The woman hesitated, weighing the options. "I think it's best we have both Champions on the offense. It's like you said. You're the best Trainers we have."

Cynthia nodded and accepted. If it was an all-out attack, world-class Pokémon were their strongest weapons. She twitched at the thought of attacking human adversaries again.

"According to Rui, the ideal way to slip in and out is through the city waterways, which run underneath the palace." Hunt explained the remainder of the plan and the team prepared to dispatch. However, she failed to address one horrible oversight.

Masir stated that though the number of rebels was itself small, Wes was certain to call upon the citizens of Phenac. If they truly believed his movement to be sovereign, thousands were at his beck and call. They would encircle the palace and force the International Police to surrender.

"What happens if civilians decide to align with the rebels?" Cynthia asked, anxiously.

Hunt hesitated as she finished tightening her vest and pulling on her beret. She couldn't say it herself, but the answer was clear. They would lose.

Their intent was to both prevent a large-scale conflict and save those taken. It was a suicide mission. As the clock ticked, the possibility of doing both seemed more and more like a dream. However, Rui stepped forward. "I think I can stop them. It's why I came."

Everyone in the room turned her way. It was a bold assertion for a single person. She held a fist against her chest, determined to do what she planned.

"I'll go to the ONBS station and get them to broadcast something. They're the biggest news outlet in Orre, and Wes and I are friends with a lot of their members. I should be able to convince the people of Phenac to defy Wes when he gives his order."

"Do you really believe that's possible?" asked Agent Hunt. It was horribly risky, but at this stage, they were desperate enough to entertain it.

"I have to," said Rui. She turned to Cynthia. "I shouldn't be so confident, but for some strange reason, I am. I think I'm starting to understand what you meant, Dr. Masuta."

Cynthia accepted her plan and her allies agreed. It was probably the safest option to keep her out of battle, as she had no weapons or Pokémon of her own. And she wouldn't need an escort. None of her Orran associates, aside from those captured at the abandoned station, knew she was working with the International Police. Cynthia couldn't help but imagine that, hidden beneath her words, Rui simply wanted to avoid a meeting. The man standing within the Orran palace wasn't the person she wished to see.

Everyone was set to move out. They had their roles. They had their mission. Their plan was imperfect, and it was impossible to cover every possible outcome, but they had to move forward. For the safety of Orre and the hostages. For Steven. For Kiki.

The lead agent put out a fist. Cynthia stared at it a moment, confused, and then watched the rest of the agents place their hands atop hers. Hunt beckoned them over.

Cynthia, her husband, and Rui joined the display. They vowed to make it back alive.

* * *

Her fear of drowning, as it turns out, was stronger than her body's plea for sleep.

Water surged around and enveloped Cynthia. She was acutely awake for the first time in hours as the pressure goaded her senses into functioning, letting her spear her hands through the water to push forward. She kept close to the floor of the canal, as did the other officers ahead of and behind her, deep enough that passersby on the street couldn't notice them within the rushing lifeblood.

A slithering body appeared on her left. Princess swam ahead of her, turned her head, and blew air into a pocket. The bubble floated into Cynthia's path, and when it touched her head, she took in one long exhale before sealing her mouth again.

Her Milotic disappeared ahead to tend to the other swimmers. She supplied air the entire trip; she didn't seem to mind the task, as the water permeated through her scales and refilled her sacs for as long as she swam. That said, she was estuarial, so the freshwater canals were diluting her bodily fluids. Cynthia wondered if Jeb's keystone counted as a salt lick.

More bubbles floated beside her. The Snag Machine hovered within one on her left, kept from breaking the tension by the Milotic's micromanaging currents. On her right were her Poké Balls and the pendant. The other agents had a similar setup where their firearms, capsules, or other sensitive devices were shielded from the water.

A dark tunnel engulfed them, but the ceiling was too low for them to surface. The canal swept them along its winding path until they arrived at a solid metal grate. They were stalled. Lance swam up from behind them, and after tenderly examining Cynthia's billowing hair between his fingers—and receiving a puffed-cheek smile—he took the barrier on himself.

Even within the inhibiting pressure of the water, Lance's body still moved as if on land. He reared back his fist. It flew, fast enough to displace all the liquid around him and send the other swimmers hurtling back, obliterating the gate on impact. Its metal was torn from the tunnel walls and sent rushing down the canal in a mass of broken pipes.

Lance shot a grin her way. She ushered him forward, not wishing to waste time. The International Police followed their lead as they swam further into the channel.

They surfaced. Cynthia threw her head above water and took in a massive breath. Princess's air bubbles weren't exactly oxygen rich, and finally her lungs felt fresh and cool. As the group pulled themselves onto the stone desk, Cynthia was forced to rely on two other agents to lift her from the water.

Agent Hamawi was panting on the ground, sucking in air between every word. "I should have mentioned that I don't know how to swim."

"You made it. Count your blessings," said the bearded agent. He wrung water from his pants and clothes as best he could.

Cynthia collected her belongings, then wringing out her cloak and then securing the Snag Machine beneath once the cloth was acceptably dry. None of Wes's men had witnessed her using the device and therefore weren't aware that she could counter them. The device was the key to retrieving her partner, and fortunately it had survived the aquatic journey.

Agent Hunt emerged last, pulled herself to shore, and equipped her weapons and gear. Princess lobbed the objects out of the water, the lead agent gracefully catching each. She reloaded and holstered her handgun.

"The covert team will wait in the waterway for five minutes while the offense team starts their distraction. If either group secures the hostages during the operation, they will retreat immediately." The groups split off as planned, Hunt leading the smaller unit and Lance in charge of the larger. After only a few more seconds of preparation from each cog in their delicate machine, they were ready to move out.

Cynthia, however, crossed the gap between the two to confront Agent Hunt. She hadn't realized how worn the woman looked. Her face and neck were marred with scars, and her nose bent at an off angle.

"I understand that you don't have explicit orders, but promise me you'll repeat yesterday's result," said Cynthia. No one was killed at the stadium. Nor in the armed coup, according to the news report. Nor at the waystation. She hoped that, when the dust had settled, history wrote of these clean battles rather than a horrifying war. "My mission is to life. Will you join me?"

The words of a Champion affected Hunt, war-torn as she was. She subtly nodded, then repeated the order to the rest of the agents. Do not aim to kill unless absolutely necessary.

With that in mind, they launched. Silently, the two groups separated in the waterway and raced through the damp limestone. Their hurried steps disturbed standing puddles and echoed through the underworld. They didn't expect to encounter anyone until they reached the upper floors. Still, she held her capsules at her hip.

With the floorplan apparently memorized, the bearded agent took the lead, leading them through another couple corners until they reached a staircase. It spiraled upwards, seemingly the base of a tower, and Cynthia's vision was gradually filled with sunlight.

At the apex, they came across a steel door. Lance reached for the handle and found it locked. He gripped. He pulled. The entire handle, lock within, was torn from the metal, allowing the door to slide open.

She raised an eyebrow at him. In a harsh whisper, she asked, "Why do you even _have_ Pokémon?"

He grinned and turned his head forward. He fed the International Police through the door and joined them at the rear.

Cynthia had to withhold a gasp as she took in the palace's main floor. She had seen the peak of exorbitant wealth as she danced in extravagant ballrooms, visited mansion after penthouse of top League officials, and was ferried around by top-of-the-line private airlines. But the palace of the Orran kings was positively opulent.

Her eyes reflected white and gold. Flawless marble layered the floors, cut and stained in intricate, swirling patterns. The walls rose over six stories for only a single floor, and every empty space was adorned with plastered reliefs—men and women in ceremonial robes emerged from the walls and performed ritual duties in service of the royal house. The golden architecture between sculptures was carved and painted with intricate geometric patterns, and near the height of the roof, colored glass panels filtered infinite hues of sunshine.

This wasn't the subdued wealth of the modern day, possessed with minimalism and repose. It was a magnificence long since abandoned by the Pokémon League's ruthless pursuit of the future. A final monument of the world before the Coalition War.

In their haste, they disturbed the artistic peace. Each of their footsteps was carried to the heavens and back down by the palace's acoustics. Far across the marble was their first sign of resistance.

A group of men mulling around the hall were alerted to their presence. They shouted amongst their comrades, then aimed their weapons. They had no regard for if they might hit the art and architecture.

Lance released all six of his Pokémon in a wave. Three Dragonite, Flygon, Gyarados, Aerodactyl. The army of great beasts shook the floor as they materialized. Normally it would be impossible to command a full team simultaneously, but there was a single move they all shared.

"Protect!" he shouted.

The six Pokémon adjusted their bodies to cover as wide a space as possible, focused their energy, and glowed. They were enveloped a blue-green, reflective sheen, like a netting stretching over their entire bodies. As the gunfire began, it reflected off the concentrating Pokémon, and the agents took cover behind them.

"They can't hold this!" said Lance. "Disable their weapons!"

One of the agents offered a Pokémon of her own. It was the Magnemite from the previous day. "My Pokémon's ability is Magnet Pull. I need to get close."

"Allow me," said Cynthia, as she unveiled her Togekiss. The magnificent flying creature spread his wings wide and prepared to take flight.

"Mine isn't bothered by bullets, but are you sure your Pokémon won't get caught in the crossfire?"

"Don't worry." Cynthia put on a confident face. Opie had a powerful ability of his own: Super Luck. It was simply a cheeky name for her Togekiss's enhanced senses. He could feel the tiniest vibrations in the air and aim his special attacks with utmost accuracy, allowing him to target an opponent's vital areas more easily.

With Cynthia's blessing, the agent ordered her Magnemite to attach itself to Opie's back. The ball of metal's natural current, combined with static electricity within Opie's feathers, bonded the Pokémon as one. The pair launched above the blockade. Swerving through bullets while the gunmen tried to shoot them down, they soared toward the enemy line.

Cynthia couldn't risk peering from behind Lance's Gyarados to see it happen. She put her trust in Opie's natural ability and his honed skills.

She could feel sparks singe her skin. The flying electromagnet charged a dance of ions in the air. The men shouted in surprise as their firearms were audibly ripped from their grasps and gravitated to the combo. They were defenseless.

"Go, go, go!" Lance shouted to everyone around him, and Cynthia followed his command.

Emerging from behind the defending Pokémon, she, and the agents at her side, raced across the marble to face their stunned enemies. She released Boss from his capsule and ordered Toxic Spikes. As the Roserade caught up with her run, the subtle thorns along his arms grew to impressive length. He whipped both his limbs as if throwing an object and the thorns launched the remaining distance, scattering around the rebels on the open floor.

Many of their numbers retrieved Poké Balls as secondary protection. In a flash of red, they were greeted by a line of Pokémon. Ninetales, a mammalian Pokémon with flowing gold fur around its head and neck, and a bunched set of long tails at its rear. Exploud, a purple humanoid with natural noise emitters protruding from its skull. Darmanitan, a squat red creature with fists larger than its body and flames licking across its eyebrows.

A giant, inert creature behind them was far more concerning. A Slaking. That ape was undoubtedly their greatest threat, as the immense musculature beneath its fur meant any one of its attacks could critically injure their Pokémon. However, she had faced its species and its characteristic sluggishness before. They had a short time to shut it down before it gathered its strength and began its rampage.

The Ninetales jumped forward and howled as the spines on the floor injected it with venom. It mustered up its courage, however, and released a torrent of flame from its muzzle.

"Water Pulse!" ordered the agent with the Clawitzer. The crustacean met the flames head on with a pulsing ray of water, which vaporized on contact and engulfed the battlefield in a light steam.

A flaming fist cracked the marble where Boss stood just seconds before, and he found himself locked into combat with the Darmanitan. The opponent Pokémon threw a flurry of Fire Punches. Each threatened serious injury with the type advantage, but it soon became clear that not a single strike could land.

Boss weaved gracefully between the creatures burning arms, matching each missed blow with a targeted Poison Jab. One dodge, one strike. They did minimal damage—Darmanitan was a bulky Pokémon, and Roserade weren't strong physical combatants—but they each delivered a more subtle punch. The creature's fists slowed as poison crawled through its veins, aided by the tainted traps at its feet. Its fire burned dim, reduced to only hints of smoke.

With his opponent drained, Boss delivered one well-aimed blow to the underside of the Darmanitan's chin, knocking it unconscious. It collapsed onto a bed of spikes.

The Slaking. Beyond the brawling Pokémon, it was beginning to rouse. A creature like that could go toe-to-toe with any of her or Lance's Pokémon. She needed to do something immediately.

A deafening sound enveloped Cynthia and she grasped at her throbbing ears in agony. It forced her to kneel. Her entire head rattled, her vision blurred, and she could only make out a vague purple shape at the origin of the burst. With a shaking hand, she recalled Boss to guard him from the devastating soundwaves.

Lance's Flygon soared overhead and tackled the Exploud, ripping it from the ground and canceling its attack. It gripped the sound-emitting Pokémon with its talons and teeth, preventing it from concentrating on an encore, and then slammed it back down on the marble.

Their time had run out. The Slaking had gained footing. The rebel Trainers wisely cleared its path, leaving a direct line between it and Cynthia. It charged. Its Trainer shouted, "Giga Impact!"

The palace shook with each step. It was _fast,_ far faster than its size would suggest, and it was upon them in a second. It tucked in its arms, intended to obliterate them with sheer physical force. Cynthia was right in its path.

A similar feeling to when she faced Masir's Armaldo wrapped its tendrils around her beating heart, and she was certain its rhythmic movement ceased. She wasn't fast enough to escape, and she had no Pokémon that could effectively stop it.

Three shapes dropped from the sky and joined the fight. It was Lance's three Dragonite. They planted themselves in the way of the Slaking's attack and together absorbed the Giga Impact. The shock cracked more of the floor and sunk all four titans deep into the marble. Even with their strength, the Dragonite could barely hold the immense ape back.

She grabbed at the shawl covering her left arm. It was her only chance. They needed to finish this quickly, and it was the easiest, most painless solution. However, Lance squeezed her opposite shoulder to stop her.

"Don't." His words were final. "You won't have a chance to get your partner back if they know you have it."

It took a moment to formulate another plan—longer than usual, as her exhaustion was catching up to her. She glanced down the palace hall, noting that it was extremely long and spacious, perfect to gain speed. "I need you to keep it in place as long as possible. I can end this in a single move."

He ordered his Pokémon to use all their power. Red wisps enveloped the three Dragonite, evident of their energy pathways focusing, and they pushed back against the brute until they were completely locked. The Slaking flailed and roared at the interference.

Cynthia took charge. She whistled for Opie to return to her, and shortly after he landed with his payload of intact. The Magnemite, covered in magnetized firearms, detached itself and floated towards its Trainer. Without missing a beat, Cynthia released Rick and ordered him to saddle up. The pair launched behind them through the grand space and escaped the field of battle. They flew far enough to touch a perpendicular wall, where Opie kicked off in the opposite direction.

Her Togekiss beat his wings and accelerated. Fighting against the passenger on his back, he pushed himself further and further. He angled downward, further accelerating by force of gravity. As the pair closed in, they became a blur.

Cynthia held out Opie's Poké Ball and clicked the button. In a flash of red, Opie disappeared beneath Rick, leaving him to cross the final gap. It was just as Leon had done at the convention center. She couldn't believe such a strategy would be the ace up her sleeve.

Rick reared back a paw as he flew. He charged power. One super effective hit, delivered at maximum velocity, would be enough to down even a Slaking.

"Release!" ordered Lance, and his three Dragonite immediately loosened their grip. The Slaking's charge resumed. Its forward momentum would only increase the force of impact.

Cynthia threw out her arm and shouted, "Close Combat!"

The missile made contact. She could see the force of the attack ripple through the air, and she would have been swept into the sky had Lance not stood in front of her to absorb the shockwave. Even he was winded after taking the brunt of it.

When the hall finally fell quiet, the Slaking was lying prostrate amongst the fractured marble and Rick stood over its motionless body. However, she could see his arm rent at an odd angle. He howled his victory, not intent on letting his injury show. She quickly recalled him. In stasis he would feel no pain, and she refused to release him again until it was in the arms of veterinary professionals.

The defeated rebels had already started to fall back, but in the open space of the palace and with no more defenses to protect them, they were at the International Police's mercy. An agent beside Cynthia aimed true, the bullet passing through the calf of one and making him crash to the floor. Another shot, another fall. Lance's Dragonite flew overhead and blocked off the rest, and those still on their feet raised their arms in surrender.

They had conquered the first wave. But it was only eight by her count, and the rest of their comrades in the building were no doubt alerted to their presence by now. The International Police wasted no time handcuffing the rebels and lining them up against a nearby wall beneath the plaster sculptures. Someone with the right tools or the right Pokémon could free them, certainly, but they were incapacitated for the time being.

The bearded agent beckoned them towards the grand hall of the palace. No doubt the resistance would increase as they moved closer. They were deep in the enemy stronghold and it was too late to turn back.

Their final battle had begun.

* * *

It was time to go and he didn't want to.

Leon followed Geralt as they exited the hotel, his three suitcases hazardously hanging from his arms. Whether it was the weight of his belongings or something else, he found himself lagging. His boyfriend took him by the hand and dragged his heavy heart with, what he hoped was, an even heavier heart.

"Let's get a move on," said Geralt, tugging harder. "It's bad enough they took so long to send the plane. I wanted to be right home this morning."

He cursed the Galarian bureaucracy under his breath and Leon submitted to his whim. Through Geralt, Leon was under the Galarian League's complete control, and he was torn away from the epicenter of the crisis. It wasn't fair! Auntie and Uncle had to bear such a massive responsibility while he was just being lugged around on a metaphorical leash.

Leon slowly turned his head to the convention center, which sat in the center of a quiet city. The police roamed the streets, enforcing the order for citizens to stay in their homes, guarding a line of citizen vehicles headed out of the city. Flashes of red and blue reflected off the steel building frames, complete or otherwise.

Their pace was slowed by Magnolia, who stepped with her cane. The old lady routinely fell behind them, forcing him and Geralt to slow to let her catch up. She wasn't as vocal as usual—Leon expected one or two quips at the least, but she had absolutely nothing to say. Nothing.

For that matter, neither did he. Multiple times he opened his mouth, only to slam his teeth shut and nearly bite his tongue clean off. He and Geralt had bickered for hours, tossing insults, pillows, and objects less soft than pillows across their hotel suite. And that bastard had the audacity to charge the hotel's repair fees on Leon's card, as if he didn't have a nine-figure salary to throw around. All he wanted was to be present, to help, to do something, _anything_. Why was that so much to ask?

Leon slumped. His argument was pointless now. The IPL had probably sent everyone home already—it seemed far more efficient than the Galarian League, for all that it was worth. That endless stream of cars poured from the stadium, heading to wherever the passengers needed to be that hopefully wasn't here.

When they finally arrived at the airport, they avoided the main terminals and walked on the exterior green to the private airfield. The structures around them were dotted with guide lights. It was hard to miss their ride. A small jet, its body painted with a gaudy rose petal design, waited to tear up the tarmac. Support crew scurried about to tend to the needy beast.

"Oh, finally," Geralt muttered. "It shouldn't take thirty hours to send a ten-hour flight. It should take ten. Ten! I should file a complaint with the chairman. A complaint and a request for compensation. For you too, Leon. You shouldn't have needed to deal with this."

Because Geralt was always the arbiter on what he needed to do. Wasn't _Leon_ the Champion? Wasn't he the one qualified to deal with bullshit?

Someone flew off the waiting plane's airstairs to greet them. An unmistakable head of red rushed past him and swallowed Magnolia within her oversized brown coat. Leon turned back to face them.

Sonia looked prim and proper as usual. She was an old friend of his, living one village over with the old lady, and they'd taken the Gym Challenge together a while back. Things weren't exactly ace between them—there was an awkward phase where she wanted to get real familiar with him, and he didn't _exactly_ clearly explain the problem there as early as he should have—but he was relieved to see her nonetheless.

"Took you long enough, young lady," said Magnolia

"Love you too, Gran," said Sonia, who stepped away on light feet and turned to address all of them. "Ready to ship out, Dandy? Get back home and have tea?"

He would have thrown her a joke had Geralt not stepped in front of him and said, "Yes. We are. Let's go."

Leon surrendered his capsules to a worker to lock them down for transport. The man confirmed his account entries one-by-one to disable the Poké Balls, preventing them from retrieving PC server data. One by one, his Poké Balls were registered and stored away.

Voices swirled around him like a vortex, the various workers grabbing their bags and things to load into the cargo hold. They each had something to say.

"Hell of a day, huh?" one asked.

"At least we're getting hazard pay for doing this job," said another.

"Rather be working here than in the stadium. They gotta stay a while because Orrans are still here."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they can't go home until the border opens again."

In a lightning-fast motion, Leon snatched his one remaining Poké Ball from the worker in front of him. He broke out into a sprint. His feet didn't even feel like they were touching the ground. But almost immediately, he was pulled back. Leon stopped. He wrenched his hand from his boyfriend's grasp and curled his fists at his sides.

Geralt leveled a curt frown at him. "Don't start this again."

"Doesn't this bother you?"

The agent pushed his glasses a little higher up his face, holding them in place with his index finger. He hesitated. "Why should it? You're in no danger. People are on the case. That's all that matters."

"The people matter! I have a grand responsibility to be there for them!" challenged Leon.

"The Pokémon League says you don't."

"Fuck the Pokémon League!" shouted Leon, stopping everyone on the airfield in their tracks. Both Sonia and Magnolia regarded him with puzzled eyes. Did he really just open his mouth and say _that?_ He'd put himself on the spot, but he quickly decided to use it to his advantage. It was like a live venue. "These two Regions aren't better off than when this event started. Auntie and Uncle are on some mad suicide mission. It's the Pokémon League's fault that any of this had to happen, because they didn't even try to sort this mess. It's time someone in the League had a little responsibility for once."

Magnolia and her granddaughter approached them, the elderly woman leaning into her cane. Geralt looked to her, as if to ask her to slap some sense into him, because that's just what he needed. Another babysitter preventing him from doing right. But she merely smiled. "Do what you think is right, young man."

This beat Geralt into submission. He had no support. He was alone. He tried desperately to hold onto that professionalism he so desperately adhered himself to, but it was clear he stood on the wrong side of the line in the sand.

"You're brilliant, Geralt. I love how you're so organized, and always so on top of things, and you keep me out of trouble." Leon took his hand gently and spilled out his heart, only to feel it burn in his chest like that of his partner Charizard. "But we need to make trouble now. It's not about us. It's not about the job. It's about them."

The man was silent, his eyes wandering to Leon's shoes. Leon unclasped his sponsored cape and tossed it across the tarmac.

"For once in your life, mate, think for yourself. I refuse to follow the rules if they won't let me have my Champion time."

After a few seconds, Geralt raised his head, revealing a horrible expression. It was dreadful. Leon almost wanted to break down into tears seeing what he just did. Geralt slipped off his glasses, held them in his shaking hand and said, "O-okay. Go."

Leon wasn't sure he heard right. He blinked. His boyfriend put a hand on his chest and pushed him backwards into a stagger.

Geralt repeated himself. _"Go."_

With that blessing in mind, Leon let fly his Poké Ball. He threw himself atop his materializing Charizard, seating himself unsaddled on the magnificent creature before his color had even faded from neon. Without further prompting, his Pokémon exploded into flight, carrying the Trainer through Magnadia.

It was the same scene from above. Empty streets. Police sirens. Unspoken sorrow. Wind rushed around Leon, tightening his shirt, shorts, and stockings against his body. He could feel the heat of his partner as he rocketed faster, and faster, and faster towards the convention center stadium.

Leon put pressure on his beast's neck and urged him to dive. They plummeted towards the ground, and he took in the half-empty stadium. It was almost entirely composed of Orran citizens, many in desert-ready clothing. As the turf neared, Leon's Charizard pulled upwards, shifting into a low hover by beating his powerful wings.

The summit officials and waiting citizens all had their eyes on him. He kicked his legs over his Pokémon and barreled across the ground. A man on the stadium turf held a microphone, reading a list of attendees.

"Troy Joshi, Rania Jovadi, Lama Junor, Josephine Juma, Moe Jūyō…"

Leon snatched the microphone and the list from his hands, shocking the man. Other officials stepped up and accosted him, but when they realized who exactly was standing before them, they searched between each other for an answer.

"If it's not a bother, I'm just gonna pick some names here and just… talk for a while. If that's okay." He flipped back to the first page and picked one random. He said into the microphone, "Where is Michael Atiyah? Do we have a Michael Atiyah here?"

He looked upon the crowd, who seemed surprised at his appearance. No one moved for a few seconds. However, one man did eventually stand with a raised hand. He sat with two young kids, no more than four, dozing in each other's arms.

Judging by the name, he had both Orran and Unovan heritage. He was probably here to have fun with his Unovan family, or to see his two homes come together in a fun little meeting of nations. He, and his kids, and everyone else in the arena had to endure over a full day of this lunacy. Did the League even have the thought to get them all fed?

"Talk to me a bit. Only a bit if you're not too comfortable." Leon heard the playback of his voice through the arena speakers.

The distant man looked confused. And bloody exhausted. This was a complete crapshoot—these people could be absolutely furious, and Leon was opening himself up to get pelted with insults. He represented the Pokémon League, and as such, he fully expected them to take their anger out on him. The man spoke up, but his voice didn't carry nearly far enough.

Leon turned to the summit officials. "Well? Get that good man a microphone!"

One confused man took his word, and probably the word of his growling Pokémon, rushing up the stands to offer him his own device.

Michael Atiyah cleared his throat to speak. He stumbled over his words, not fully fluent in Unovan, but his voice was calm. "I'm, uhh, I am good. Okay. Your fight was… pretty."

"You want to head home soon, right?"

"Umm… yes. This was vacation. Not the best," he said.

"We'll get you home as soon as possible," said Leon. He turned a side-eyed glance at the other people standing around. "Right?"

They scurried about, just like the airport crew. This was an odd feeling. Leon never had this much control over people. This much ability to do some real good. They were starting to make calls, no doubt to ask about the situation, whether the Galarian Champion was cleared to be there, and he tuned them out. They couldn't pry them away if they tried.

The speaking man hesitated, and then asked, "C-can I see your Pokémon do… fire?"

Leon threw his thumb, index, and middle into the air, falling into his signature pose. His Charizard raised his snout to the sky, opened his jaw, and let loose a Flamethrower into the morning sky. The searing column illuminated the crowd in a warm glow, and cheers and claps erupted. Michael Atiyah returned to his seat and handed the microphone back to the official.

Searching through the list, Leon found another random name. A woman stood up. She talked about how her kid was home alone, and she had to call a neighbor to look after them. She asked to see Charizard fly. The next was a young boy, who talked in place of his parents. He struggled to stay awake to ask what it would take to be a Champion. Leon answered him honestly, that it would take years of hard work and testing, and that the job was far from perfect. It only seemed to resolve the kid to try.

Leon picked another name. Then another. And another. He promised to get the entire stadium to talk, to ease their fears and dry their tears, and to believe that happenings were going to be okay. It took all night, but if you asked him, it was the greatest night of his life.

* * *

The grand hall was consumed by the fires of battle. Clashes of Pokémon, projectile discharges, and screamed orders filled the once-serene chamber. Cynthia leaned against a pillar, feeling herself jolt every time a bullet hit the other side. The Orran rebels attacked from the other end of the hall, having kicked up tables, chairs, and other furnishings for cover.

Princess slithered between the pillars, firing Hydro Pumps across the gap. One was interrupted by a cough. In an admittedly dangerous strategy, she allowed herself to be poisoned by Boss to activate her Marvel Scale ability. Her species' natural defense mechanism hardened their scales in response to pain signals, creating patches of temporary armor at the expense of limiting their range of movement. With that poison coursing through her, her hormones had no idea where to localize—instead, they coated her entire body in a restrictive but resilient shield. The stray bullets fired by their opponents merely glanced off her shining coat.

Cynthia felt her vision sway. She fought a continuous battle to keep her eyes open despite the Awakening heat of the firefight. She caught movement in her periphery too late. A man in a robe rushed at her, clearly intending to grab her and force their unit to stand down. Only by happenstance, Lance's Aerodactyl swept through and tossed him against a nearby wall, knocking him out cold.

The agents weaved in and out of cover, firing with weapons or Pokémon, but an extended battle had taken its toll. Three of their units were down, being tended to by Hamawi, who had himself taken a bullet in his arm but kept working despite the handicap.

Their opponents, however, were undaunted. At least twenty-five men and women had amassed to fight them, all holding a defensive position in front of the monolithic wooden doors on the far side. Neither of their active Pokémon could get close enough to pick them off. The level of guard told her that Wes was somewhere beyond.

Hunt's unit should have already arrived to flank. They'd been holding for almost ten minutes, plus another five for the short encounter before. Something had happened to them. Had they been found? Had they been hurt? Killed? If either of the Champions were part of the unit, they could have prevented it. Cynthia's stomach lurched.

The bearded agent returned to cover after firing a few rounds to reload. His extra ammunition was running scarce. "We can't break through at all! And there's more coming!"

Lance stood behind an adjacent pillar, and nearly jumped in surprise when a chunk was blasted off its side. He clutched his communicator in his hands. She felt hers ring at her side—it had gone relatively unused for the duration of the mission, as the two leaders handled most of the orders—and lifted it to her ear.

" _Attention all units. Attention all units."_ Cynthia was overcome with relief at the sound of Hunt's voice. The message continued, " _We've located some of the hostages and we have to secure their escape route before we can rejoin the offense. Can you hold? Over."_

Cynthia froze. She wasn't sure if she'd heard correctly, or if her lack of sleep had turned her brain inside out. Not only were they safe, but they also found the hostages. The mission had suddenly become much more feasible.

She hesitated to respond. One word stuck out. Some? Cynthia said into her communicator, "You haven't found everyone? Report. Over."

" _Negative. We have members of the Orran Council and other imprisoned civilians. Steven Stone and the stolen Pokémon aren't here. Over."_

She struggled to keep the communicator in her trembling hands. She was silent as Lance spoke. "We will hold. Over."

He stashed the device away and stared at her. Bullet and energy attacks soared past him, trapping him within their cage.

Cynthia called to him, "Push me through."

"Why?" he asked, alarm painting his face.

"He still hasn't given the order. And without the other group, we won't win here. Our only remaining option is to force his hand and gamble on Rui."

"Do you have a plan?"

Her lips endeavored to put on a cocky smile, but her face, and her arms, and her legs, and everything else felt heavy. She felt imaginary weights strapped to herself. "I need Jeb in the center. Then fly me to the end."

It was fifty meters to the doors, the path marked by a magnificent royal carpet. Nothing obstructed a straight arc down the center, and with a well-aimed shot, she could sink Jeb's keystone among a crowd of gunmen directly in their path. She had no choice but to attack them directly. At the very least, she'd use a Dark-type move, as it exhausted opponents more than it physically injured them.

Cynthia recalled Princess to trade for Jeb. She aimed the beam towards Lance and the keystone appeared at his side. Rather than summon one of his Dragonite and risk them getting hurt on materialization, he hoisted it himself and wound back his arm. He gave a signal with his other hand. Three. Two…

He stepped out from the pillar and hurled. The motion rippled his muscles and bent his arm in inhuman direction, the payload coming off his hand faster than a cannonball.

Cynthia was deaf to her own order. "Use Dark Pulse!"

The hall trembled when the heavy stone bit the ground. She held her breath as pure darkness rushed past them, filling the entire space with a horizontal wave. She and the International Police were spared by their cover behind the pillars, but Lance had tossed Jeb behind the enemy lines. Shouts echoed and the gunfire stopped.

Before she could react, she was crushed in the grip of the emerald Dragonite as it appeared from its capsule. Lance joined her in the arms of one of its sons, and together they took off.

She held on for her life. The carpet rushed past her and she saw the results of Jeb's attack. The Orrans were knocked across the ground, some having dropped their weapons, but they were recovering quickly. She held out Jeb's Poké Ball and retrieved him as they passed overhead. The flight elapsed in a few short seconds and they touched down in front of the doors.

"Protect!" Lance called out as he and Cynthia escaped the creatures' arms. He planted himself between her and the Orrans, just as he had at the conference, urging her to move. They were alone on the opposite side. "Get through the door!"

The Dragonite took protective stances and once again surrounded themselves with radiance in time to absorb bullets. The rebels had recovered and now fired down both ends of the hall, shouting orders to stop the Champions. But her invincible shield refused to stand down.

She pushed on the giant door. It took all her own drained, pitiful, useless strength to make the wood give way. She slipped inside and turned quickly to push it closed, the thin view to the grand hall disappearing.

Just beyond, she saw the backs of her husband and his Pokémon. The Protect was disappearing, and soon they'd be vulnerable to fire. Cynthia stopped in her tracks. She couldn't leave them behind. They were stranded from the rest of the International Police, and if she left to face Wes, Lance would have no support on his side of the battlefield.

A bullet penetrated the narrow space between his Dragonite and tore through his shoulder. Her emotions overtook her, and she tried to pry the great door open again. Another bullet hit him in the stomach—dampened by his armored vest—and then another, and another. He didn't so much as cry out, but he turned a raging eye to her. A guttural scream echoed behind his clenched teeth. _"_ Go! _Now!"_

Cynthia slammed her shoulder into the door and gave one final push. The sliver of view vanished, and the hardwood slammed flush with itself. She released Princess and ordered Ice Beam. Her side of the door was encased in ice, which grew between the cracks and giant hinges, sealing it closed. She was alone.

The orchestra of shots and shouts whispered through the door. Her husband was somewhere on the other side, riddled with gunshots, fighting for his life. She knew he wouldn't lay down and die, but she couldn't shake those creeping visions of blood and death.

Her heart, her lungs, her brain, they had long since surrendered. Her only remaining reason to stand was her Champion's will that heaved her failing body against gravity. Lactic acid burned through her muscle fibers when she finally regained enough sense to run.

She couldn't feel her feet as they touched the ground. They drew her closer to Wes. Closer to a fight that never needed to happen.

Another large hall disappeared behind her. She was in some type of connecting passage, less ornate than the grand hall in all aspects except the second door at the end. The wood was plated with shining gold and painted with a design depicting a king's coronation. Her heartbeat pounded in her head as it approached her.

And then the order began.

" _Citizens of Phenac! Citizens of Orre! We wake today on a new country, one in control of its own future!"_ It was Wes. His voice emanated from parts unknown. Muffled as it was, it might have been from outdoor speakers adorning the palace itself. Through them he announced his place in history. _"Today begins the era of the New Orran Republic!"_

Wes must have seen her break off and made his move just as she knew he would. Even if she stopped him now, they might soon be forced to surrender. He was no longer the rebel. It was the forces of the International Police who challenged the power of a nation and were thus enemies to be destroyed.

Cynthia body slammed against the regal gateway. It felt heavier than the previous as she pushed it open, but she knew it wasn't the plating. She was deteriorating.

" _Know that we cannot keep our newfound freedom if we spectate! We cannot change the world if we do not play! The palace is under siege by those who would steal from us what we rightly deserve. Many of you may have heard a concerning message on your radios and televisions mere minutes ago, telling you that they are here to save you. But I know you are smart enough to see through those lies!"_

Rui had completed her mission. Probably after they were drawn into battle with the first group of rebels, she had managed to get her message through the news station. Cynthia had to believe that one lone woman could turn them around.

" _They are playthings of the Pokémon League and enforcers of tyranny, who would just again destroy our way of life as they did in the Coalition War!"_ Wes declared. _"And so I ask of you, citizens of Orre, to fight for your country! Take up your arms, gather your Pokémon, and protect the palace that is yours! You are leaders of your new Republic!_

Masir's warning was realized. Every citizen of Phenac was given a choice—those who believed Wes would march, an army that could shake Phenac's streets with every step. Her only thought before she passed the final barrier was a prayer for Rui, and for the people of Orre, to avert this war. It was her last hope.

She heard the echoes of his voice as she stepped into the last chamber. The carpet continued from the connecting hall and terminated at the foot of a throne. The Orran Kings once held audience for their people there, lined up under the midday sunlight that penetrated the skylights above. Bolted to the open floor were wooden seats, a century old or possibly more, curved around a speaker's podium at the center. Orre had constructed a parliament chamber directly atop the throne room when the Orran Kingdom died, and the original republic rose. Now it had been rendered obsolete by the League's appointed council. If they even used this chamber at all, Terminus's yes-men would only fill the central few seats.

Standing within three generations of rule was Wes, on the speaker's podium. He leaned back from the microphone and stepped around to reveal himself in full. A patterned, navy coat hugged his body above a black undersuit, and goggles rested on his bleached hair. Cynthia's eyes were drawn to the purple and orange device on his left arm. Its armor on his shoulder and forearm looked more organic, but it was no doubt a Snag Machine.

He held up something in his other hand, something far more important. It was a simple Poké Ball, but the way that he brandished it told of its contents. It could be a trick. It could be empty. But it could also be a bargaining chip to keep her present and listening, and it was working.

His first words were surprising. "I'm sorry."

She readied Boss's Poké Ball in her right palm, but he held up his left arm to dissuade her. He could shut down any of her Pokémon if he chose. Her own machine was shielded from view safely under her cloak, and she searched his face for any indication that he knew. Nothing. Good. She only needed one opportunity to snatch the capsule.

"It wasn't supposed to be you," he said, answering an internal question of hers. "You spoke for us, and you shouldn't have been dragged into this."

"Where are you keeping Stone?" she cut in. He was the only hostage unaccounted for.

His expression shifted, but only for a second. A gleam in his eyes quickly vanished. "Why would I tell you?"

He must have kept him under heavier guard elsewhere, because losing a Champion meant losing massive leverage. He wanted three before the end of the day to force the Pokémon League to accept their independence.

"I thought you could convince him to let us go in peace. And you didn't." Rage dripped from his last statement. He approached, probably pitying her horrible physical condition. She was slumped enough that he looked down to address her. "I placed the wrong bet by thinking you were better than them. You haven't just allowed the Pokémon League to torture us. You're here to be their executioner."

The man lapsed into silence, awaiting her response. She wasn't ready for her turn to speak, and it took another few seconds before the last vestiges of her strength managed to strum her vocal chords.

"You seem to believe I want to do this," she said, her voice scratched like a worn record. "Do you believe it was easy to make this decision? Do you believe I _like_ showboating that the world is wonderful while the League strangles it behind the scenes? Do you believe I don't spend every waking breath wishing the Coalition War never happened?"

"Don't act like that changes—"

"It wasn't. I don't. And I do, Wes. But above all of that, I am a Champion. Before I can change the world, I must create peace."

She raised a shaking finger to him, and under the force of her accusation, he stepped back. Here she was, tired and broken, but she was still strong enough to fight.

"If you don't stand down, your region will be swallowed in war again. Thousands will perish. You were willing to put them in harm's way before yourself to make this happen. And you took my partner and friend from me," she said. A thought occurred to her. It was a weapon she could use to break him. "Is this what Rui wanted?"

She blinked and he was right in front of her. The armored hand was at her throat, compressing her windpipe. Her lungs burned as her breaths failed.

He was right where she wanted him to be. She just needed to grab the capsule. It was still wrapped in his free hand's knuckles, anger tightening his veins. Cynthia tried weakly to reach out with her hand and take it back, but she couldn't. There was nothing left. Her arms fell weakly at her sides.

As her oxygen supply ran dry, her field of view pulsed. Black seeped inward from her peripherals and blurred the form of a man who had burned away the last remnants of his mercy. All she could make out were his savage, golden irises.

The tiniest motion appeared behind him. It spun white and red. Unable to see its clear form, she knew what it was. It rolled silently to a stop behind him, and it burst open in a flash of neon.

In his shock, his hand came loose, and she crumpled to the floor. A giant body emerged behind him, and its arm swung before the color had filled in its silhouette. Wes brought the Snag Machine up to block it. It connected. The wooden wall splintered as he crashed into it, and the machine on his left arm dripped with sparks. The piece on his forearm was completely destroyed when it absorbed the attack.

Cynthia's vision slowly returned, and her eyes widened when she realized what Pokémon had emerged. An Aggron, covered head to toe in overlapping gray metal. It faced Wes, a rumble in its voice, and stood in defense of the Champion.

"Cynthia!" The shout came from an upper balcony. She brought a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. Her eyes traced up from the torn slacks to the dirtied purple undershirt—his jacket discarded—to his bruise-marred face.

Steven Stone stood living. And he was free.

Wes had bluffed! He must have known that the hostages were compromised, but when she'd asked about Stone, he seemed confused for that split-second. Somehow, he'd escaped and reclaimed his own stolen Poké Balls.

"Get the capsule!" he said.

It had fallen from Wes's grasp in the scuffle. She nearly dove for it, throwing out her left arm and revealing her own machine from within the cloak. Her fingers squeezed around it. With a few controls on the hand, she set it to override directly from PC storage. It linked. She tossed away Wes's now-inactive Poké Ball and retrieved the scuffed one from her own pocket.

A palpable energy emanated from within. Once again, her partner was in her grasp. She threw the capsule-sky high and watched it release a brilliant light.

Her partner slammed to the ground after materializing mid-air. Kiki threw out her winged limbs and roared to the ceiling. From her perspective, the hours since she was forced into stasis by the fake Dynamax equipment had vanished in an instant.

But it hadn't been an instant for Cynthia, and her eyes dampened as she took in the majesty of the Dragon-type beast. There was always a possibility, if the International Police had failed, and if she hadn't chosen to join them, that she would never have seen her partner or Stone again. Maybe that thought was what drove her final push, when she stepped up to her husband and demanded to accompany him.

The Garchomp took in the situation and bared her teeth for another fight. She jerked her head to Cynthia and promised without so much as a sound that she would project her.

Cynthia wiped her eyes and stood as straight as possible. Now was no time for teary-eyed reunions. Turning her head up to Stone, she asked, "You rescued your own Pokémon, right? Can you fight?"

"Y-yeah. I think so," he said from above, though he clearly wasn't confident in that assertion. He trotted over to a staircase and descended to the main floor to take an unsteady place at her side.

She, however, denied him. "Travel to the grand hall. My husband is injured, and the International Police need assistance."

"Are you sure?"

"They need you more than I do," she said.

He nodded, retrieved his Aggron with a materialization beam, and took one step away from her battle. To her surprise, though, he stepped back and gently grabbed her wrist.

For a moment, they saw through each other's eyes. His were tired, and hers certainly no better, both wearing the weight of the past three days. He said softly, "Thank you, Cynthia."

He didn't give her a chance to respond before breaking towards the main door, pushing it open, and heading towards the raging fight. She wanted to change her mind and call out for him to stay, as if she couldn't believe he was safe, but she turned back to a recovering Wes.

He pulled himself up by the wall and leaned on it with one arm. Realizing it was useless, he unstrapped the Snag Machine and tossed it aside. He withdrew a pair of Poké Balls from the pockets of his coat. "The game has changed. Even if you freed the hostages, they'll all surrender soon. It's over once my people arrive."

She couldn't agree more. One way or another, when they reached the palace, this battle would come to an end.

Wes tossed the capsules to unleash a pair of combatants. Hariyama, a stout master of hand-to-hand combat, and Sudowoodo, a stone-faced tree mimic.

"But before they arrive, I'm going to conquer you. I'll prove that not even the Champions can stand in the way of Orre's freedom." It was clear he prided himself as a Trainer, and if he had spent the last decade fighting against criminal activity in Orre, he was far above the average Trainer. His Pokémon were powerful, and his attitude was experienced. He would be a formidable opponent to most.

But not to her.

He ordered his Pokémon to attack. The Sudowoodo charged forward and prepared to deliver an Ice Punch, intent to keep Kiki occupied while its partner multiplied its strength with a Belly Drum. The former brought down a limb charged with frigid energy.

"Throw it," said Cynthia, calmly. She wasn't certain she could speak more complex orders.

Kiki swung her fins and swept the creature's legs out from underneath it. Its silent surprise turned to fear when the Garchomp locked her claws around it, canceling its attack while also stopping it from hitting the ground. She wound up and hurled the Sudowoodo directly at its partner.

The Hariyama had beat itself into submission. Each palm driven into its own gut caused it to spit up blood but also forced its body to surge with power. But its concentration was broken when the sentient mass of stone caved in its stomach for it.

Immediately after the grapple, Kiki kicked off the floor and flew like an arrow. She raced the flight of the Sudowoodo directly to its target, and neither of them could escape her path.

"Hariyama, toss Sudowoodo away!" Wes demanded.

"Dragon Rush," Cynthia ordered.

Kiki's speed multiplied. Her body was engulfed in draconic energy that danced like lightning between her spines and trailed behind her like mist. Hariyama and Sudowoodo took the full force of the arrow and smashed through one parliament seat after another until both laid motionless on the chamber floor.

Cynthia had been holding back up until now. Princess could have easily swallowed the soldiers at their earlier engagements with Surf, but it would have damaged the precious artisanry of the palace. Rick could have collapsed pillars in the grand hall with well-placed Aura Spheres and swallowed their distant foes at the cost of the entire ceiling. The most she had allowed in both cases was damage to the marble tiling.

But here? Aside from the throne at the end, it was a construction of twentieth-century bureaucrats, and the original walls were protected by wood that matched the seats. The craftsmanship was certainly attractive, but it didn't have the history to warrant its survival.

Her Garchomp stood tall again between the crushed architecture, traces of dark lightning lingering on her skin. A vicious snarl sent Wes reeling, but he recovered quickly.

The communicator sounded in her pocket. She tapped the button and heard Hunt's voice. _"There are hundreds amassing at the front gates, all armed. This is it! Over!"_

Wes heard it as well. His confidence was reinforced, and he smirked. There was no longer any chance to escape for any of her comrades. If the civilian army was their enemy, they had lost.

"You can't keep this up. Look at you," Wes said, perhaps trying to distract himself now that he was down two Pokémon. He released another pair to face her—Mismagius and Espeon. They were less imposing than their predecessors, but she wouldn't assume any less dangerous. "You're seconds away from passing out. And I know all your Pokémon but this one are exhausted and injured. You can't keep going."

In truth, she had no idea how she still stood. If she amputated her legs, she would have had more feeling below her waist. The chained pendant above her armored vest carved a valley into her neck and dragged her down as if she couldn't support its weight. She should have passed out five minutes ago, and five minutes before that, and five before that. The entire day she had ignored her human limits to keep pushing forward.

"Do you know what it takes to be Champion?" she asked.

His lack of reply told her that he didn't fully comprehend who he had challenged. He still clung to the idea that he could defeat her, that the gap between them was small enough for him to make that final leap.

It was high time that she _crushed_ that notion.

"Mismagius, Shadow Ball!" he ordered.

The Ghost-type Pokémon's body was shaped like it wore a wide-brimmed hat and robes, which struggled to stay solid as it focused its power into a sinister orb. When the Mismagius released the blast, Kiki absorbed it directly and counterattacked by piercing her claw through the floor and vibrating her body. The microcosm of tectonic activity turned the earth upwards and formed miniature mountains in the blink of an eye. One precipice speared through Mismagius's semi-corporeal form.

"A candidate must have a minimum of two Challenge Sigils, meaning they conquered sixteen League Gyms," said Cynthia. "They must have participated in and won three national-level tournaments, proving that they can conquer their peers. They must take a multi-part examination before a panel of judges, confirming their combat potential in a wide variety of situations, culminating with a battle against the standing Champion themselves. They must win."

Wes ordered the Mismagius to strike back, and for Espeon to pressure with special attacks. Psybeam, Swift, another Shadow Ball, none of them impaired Kiki as she loomed over the struggling Ghost-type, who couldn't wrench its wispy body free like a stuck dress.

It was clear that Kiki was an entirely superior specimen. She was simply stronger. She was simply faster. She was simply better trained.

"Perhaps you could meet the level of a Champion," she reasoned, "if you've fought as you have for Orre. Maybe Diantha Carnet. Maybe Leon Tarak. But I am not any Champion."

Kiki twisted her arm and brought down a bludgeon that sent Mismagius into the floor. The Espeon fled. It put as much distance as possible between itself and the raging titan and continued to fire Swift. Bursts of small meteors shot wide from its mouth and curved midair to strike the Garchomp's hide. They were undodgeable, and Wes was counting on eventually wearing Kiki down through continual damage.

"Dig." On Cynthia's order, her partner drilled into the earth through the hole in the floor she previously created. After initial vibrations, the battlefield was quiet. The Espeon leapt randomly across the seats.

Cynthia received another message in her communicator. It was from Hamawi in the main group, whom she hoped was providing medical attention to her husband. _"I can hear them outside the grand hall!"_ He paused, gunshots ringing between his words. _"Over!"_

The Champion used the lull to approach Wes and stood as composed as a statue. There was a tinge of something in his eyes. Surprise? Confusion? Fear? He glanced between her and the Espeon across the room, but he wouldn't dare attack her directly. He was smart.

"I've participated in twelve World Trials. I finished first in the past four, beating out every other Trainer and Champion who threw themselves on the world stage, including my own husband."

Even though the Espeon stayed in constant motion, it couldn't hide the minor vibrations from each of its footsteps. The ground disappeared beneath it as it leapt for the speaker's podium. A sinkhole swallowed it whole, and a few seconds later, Kiki pulled herself from the rubble with the small feline Pokémon seized within her jaw.

"And do you know why Oberon Terminus is still the nominal World Champion? Do you understand why I've never defeated him in the Resolution Battle, despite conquering every other Trainer on this planet?" she asked. "It's because I let. Him. Win."

With his back brushing the broken wall, he had nowhere left to go. Wes scrambled to release his final pair of Pokémon, an Umbreon and a Tropius, who stood guard in front of their Trainer. The former's rings shined, reflecting across its own deep-black fur, while the latter concentrated Grass-type energy into its jaw to create an Energy Ball.

They were on guard on his order, even though Kiki was still across the room. He wasn't terrified of Cynthia's partner. He was terrified of _her_.

She declared, "I am the strongest Trainer on the planet, Wes. I could be speared through the heart and lying in a puddle of my own blood, and you would still _never_ defeat me."

The rumble of movement pounded against the giant plated doors. An ocean of footsteps and clicking weapons. The door was breached, and the room flooded with people in an instant.

Done up with belts and holsters, they were undoubtedly civilians underneath, wearing simple shirts, ponchos, and blouses tattered by the hostile environment. But they were infinite. The militia occupied every square centimeter parliament room and, if only for a moment, stood as rulers of their country for the first time in a decade. The dueling Trainers were boxed in—Kiki similarly surrounded by the ruins of the speaker's podium—and the civilians raised their armaments. Cynthia bravely turned on her heels, coming face to face with the dark passages inside hundreds of gun barrels.

Though she tried to raise both her hands, Cynthia could barely lift them past her shoulders. She was far too tired to be afraid.

Wes ordered his people in desperation. "Arrest her!"

The mass kept their guns raised, all triggers pressured, for the longest ten seconds of Cynthia's life. Nine. Eight. Seven. Despite the sheer numbers of the civilian militia, all the noises had ceased. It was a quiet, final moment.

Then, a red ponytail glided forward through the crowd. She broke the line, and Wes's eyes widened.

A realization seemed to hit. The guns were aimed at him. His voice cracked. "Rui?"

Unlike her armed peers, she looked divine. She was as untouched as she had been before the International Police set out, and with nothing aimed at her, it was clear that the ocean was at her beck and call. "All of your allies have been disarmed and taken into custody. The coup has ended."

"Why...?" Wes's knees buckled, and he gasped as if the room was suddenly devoid of air. He looked between the intent faces and their raised weapons. "You don't want your freedom?"

A young militia man beside Rui guided his gun barrel to the floor. "I… I believe in the Champion. She said she would set things right."

"We can try to make the Pokémon League better," said another.

"Rather fight in court than go to war."

"I can't lose my son for this."

Each additional murmur forced Wes to drop further until his knees almost touched the broken floor. He had lost his bet. The hostages were free. His rebels surrendered. His ultimate weapon was turned against him.

With the last of his failing will, Wes shouted, _"Tropius!"_

The long-necked Pokémon snatched him with its maw and leapt, Umbreon clinging to its back. It took air with a massive flap of its wings that also disoriented the closest militia members. Shots fired after him. The skylight exploded as the creature slammed through. Glass and plant matter and blood rained upon them, and they scrambled for orders to go after him.

Cynthia staggered forward. It was barely a limp. She put one foot forward and dragged the other in its stead, and the confused body of militants parted to let her reach her partner. One helped boost her to climb on Kiki's back, where she clung awkwardly without a saddle. The sun above felt soothing atop her hair and face.

"Rui. Do you know the fatality count?" she asked. Her voice was a raspy memory of itself.

The red-haired woman smiled. "Zero. On either side. It's a joyful day."

Cynthia merely hummed. Zero meant her husband and the hostages were safe. Zero meant no Orrans had to die for what they believed in. Zero meant peace.

She tapped Kiki's neck. Together they breached the shattered skylight and met the Orran sky.

* * *

A string of messages on her communicator guided her past the wall into the open desert. Wes had grounded himself, retrieved a vehicle, and cleared the gates, obviously prepared for some sort of escape if things went south.

Cynthia gripped herself tight against Kiki as they soared between the mesas. She couldn't speak up with the wind rushing down her throat, so she mouthed an "I missed you" with her face pressed into her partner's sandpaper scales. Kiki lurched forward, hurdling faster. She must have felt the vibrations.

She dipped. Her species couldn't sustain flight for long, as they fought hard with their small limbs to maintain any lift. A moving object on the desert road below was her target. The airborne Pokémon pulled ahead just as she struck the ground.

The monstrous vehicle toppled over when it failed to stop. It skidded across the road, sparking where metal met pavement, and sent its rider rolling. Wes's coat was torn to pieces by the time he came to rest face down in the dirt beside the road.

With Kiki's assistance, Cynthia dismounted and surveyed the scene she had created. She gawked at what could vaguely be described as a motorcycle. It appeared to have only a single back wheel and a majority of its body was a massive engine block. She swayed on her feet as she approached the defeated rebel. He raised a bloody face to her, drained of all resolution.

Cynthia watched patiently as he struggled into a sitting position, arms outstretched and wrists together. Bullets had grazed him, blood leaked down his forehead, and his face was already bruised from the tumble. He didn't speak.

Though she remained standing over him, Cynthia made no move to arrest him. She didn't have cuffs, for one. She had no use for them.

He said in a sullen whisper, "Just do what you came here to do."

"No one died today." She ignored him and changed direction. As she spoke, she refused to meet his eye, instead focusing on his flipped transport. "Were you aware of that?"

No answer but a cough.

"Did it matter to you?" she asked.

He hesitated, staring at the ground, and then ultimately conceded. "I tried to stop thinking about what might happen."

Satisfied with that answer, she walked over to the motorcycle and applied herself—poorly. It was only when her partner took over that it was turned back on its wheel, scratched of much of its body paint but still perfectly functional. The empty sidecar attracted a solemn gaze. Cynthia turned her head and said, "Go."

"I… don't understand," he said.

"Neither do I. But my heart tells me this is the right decision. I can't deny your cause, especially if no one suffered as a result. So go. This is your second chance."

Dumbfounded, he slowly pulled himself up and stumbled over to his vehicle. He mounted it with a pained grunt, still feeling the effects of his slide, and shed his coat just as he had the Snag Machine, leaving it flattened on the road.

"I want to see the Orran Republic, Wes," Cynthia said. "But promise me that it won't endanger innocent lives."

He turned towards the distant city of Phenac, its walls barely a mark on the horizon. It was so small. So pointless. "You heard them. They'd rather believe in the Pokémon League, even after what it's done to us. Orre won't be free as long as it exists."

Wes balled his fingers into a raging fist and pointed it at the city. With the final confrontation, it had reverted to being the League's seat of power in the Orre region. An oasis, an abyss. The Region would continue to be incorporated into the Pokémon League, its ancient order broken down to its constituent parts and rebuilt anew. Orre was the last bastion of the old world, and it had lost the final siege.

"Promise me," repeated Cynthia.

He met her eyes. "I owe you for this, so I'll make that promise. I'll do it without taking lives, but one day... I'll _destroy_ the Pokémon League."

Cynthia smiled and said, "I'll be waiting for that day."

He pumped the ignition and the engine roared to life, angling the vehicle off the ground with the power of two turbines underneath, though it was still anchored to the road by the back wheel. The cycle roared. He followed the empty road until he vanished into the desert mirage.

That was the last Cynthia remembered. She had kept the peace. She had done what was right. And she was tired.

Punished physically and mentally, her body finally surrendered. The road rushed up to her and delivered, in one last painful gift, a long overdue rest.

* * *

**FOUR**

**DAYS**

**LATER**

* * *

"Cynthia, you shouldn't be pushing yourself," hounded Lance as they crossed the elaborate hallway.

She stopped, huffed at him, and revealed her bandaged arm where a catheter once was. "I'm not. I had IV infusions my entire hospital stay. I'm fine."

She was interred for half a week, pumped full of enough sedatives that she was certain she now knew what Poké Ball stasis felt like. But the moment she was discharged, she had dragged her husband to the city center. They were both done up in their finest clothes, him in a maroon full-body suit and her in a dress and heels.

"You are most certainly not fine. You lost almost a quarter of your body weight in fluid in three days, and your iron was already down due to—"

"Don't speak as if you didn't get shot multiple times," she said.

"A fair point, though I have survived far worse," he said. His torso was still wrapped beneath his shirt, and he'd have some nasty scars. "But I'm not the one meeting him."

To that she had no witty response. They were at the center of the world, hundreds of meters off the ground at the International Pokémon League on the Grand Axis archipelago. Every floor but this one was stark white with no curved edges to be found. However, the apex was decorated like a mid-century mansion. The entire hall was dark, nearly black oak, with square columns rising into arches every few steps. A long ornate rug drew them forward. The lighting was dim and seemed to fade further the closer they moved toward the end.

Homey, comforting, warm. In any other location she might have felt welcome, but this was the office of Oberon Terminus. The design was a statement. He chose to make it a home, because instead of a sterile, neutral ground of a corporate office, they had to trespass on his domain to demand his audience.

The two envelopes felt impossibly heavy between her fingers. A Champion couldn't break the people's faith, so she wouldn't turn back, but the air was colder than it had ever been the few times she had wound up in his suite.

His secretary awaited them at the end of the hall, done up in a pristine suit and short skirt. She was notably short, barely a meter and a half, but her punitive personality masked her puny stature. Cynthia often had the displeasure of meeting her over lunch to discuss Terminus's orders.

"Miss Soki," Cynthia said, addressing her by the only name she had ever provided.

"I was informed that only you were scheduled, Lady Masuta." The secretary's thin eyes looked between them.

Lance waved it off. "I'm merely here to escort her on medical orders."

"Then you may wait outside while the Lady and Lord have their meeting."

Just as much as she disdained intrusive media, Cynthia had no particular taste for the aristocracy hidden behind the Grand Axis's multinational businesses. The titles, the social customs, it was all an outdated test of patience. Lance, however, regal as he was, slipped easily into his role as a gentleman. He bowed, offered her a kiss on the back of her palm, and stepped aside.

Cynthia faced the oak doors adorned with relief carvings of Pyroar, and after taking a breath, she pushed inside. They creaked horribly upon the slightest move and slammed closed, alerting the penthouse's sole resident while trapping her inside.

It was yet another statement. His desk, center to the dim and spacious room, faced away from its single entrance. His back was turned to any that approached, daring them to strike where he was most vulnerable while knowing they had no chance of succeeding. A curved window, comprising the entirety of the far wall, filled the office with muted, rainbow light from the overcast city.

She circled around the desk in a wide arc until she stopped at the front. Oberon Terminus sipped from a glass of crystal-clear water. His attention on the documents laid across his antique desk, he forced her to continue standing for nearly a minute. She caught glimpse of one of them, a case file, displaying the portrait of a purple-haired woman who lacked those sharp eyes. According to the International Police, that agent had been accidentally assigned to the mission due to clerical error despite being off duty at the time. Someone had taken her place.

"You may take a seat," he finally said.

She promptly lowered herself into the single chair opposite him and again waited. She was not to speak first.

"How have you been faring, Dr. Masuta?" he asked.

"I've been slowly recovering. I overexerted myself and paid the price, sir," she said.

The aged man took a long drink. "Ah, but if you had not, perhaps your mission wouldn't have ended in a success. My agents had nothing but the most glowing remarks about you and your husband."

"They were valuable allies, sir."

"But perhaps you shouldn't have pursued the rebel leader in your condition and instead left someone else that responsibility. It is truly a shame that he managed to escape," Terminus said.

His tone carried far more than the official statement. He wasn't stupid. Cynthia felt a single bead of cold sweat slide down the left side of her face, and she twisted her head slightly to the left to block it from his view.

His focus had never once strayed from his papers. Yet, he was in total control of the conversation. Another pause felt longer than the last, and he had almost finished his water when he finally resumed.

"I was informed you had something to show me, Dr. Masuta?" he asked.

It was the question she dreaded, but it was also her opportunity. She placed the burdensome pair of letters on the table and slid them towards him without another word.

It seemed to pique his curiosity, as he pushed his papers aside to inspect the first one, the one on his right. Leon had retrieved that letter from Magnadia, where he apparently had remained until the end of cleanup. He had held up a private jet and refused to leave in order to comfort the remaining Orrans. The Galarian League, furious as it probably was, had stayed silent in the wake of his rebellious display.

Terminus tore open the letter and read it slowly. Despite clearly scanning every line on the page, he gently placed it on the desk and asked, "What is this?"

"It's—" She tripped over her words, cursing the moment of verbal weakness. "It's a list of desires representing the Orran public, sir. They wish for, among other things, recognition of the November 11th tragedy and reduced sentences for those who participated in the Phenac Uprising. They offer greater cooperation in the integration process in exchange."

Masir had condensed his, and Wes's, and the rest of Orre's emotions into a single document. However, they didn't appear to touch the man's closed heart. He looked it over once again, not saying a word.

"And the other?" he asked, eying the second, unopened letter. The envelope was pure black and unlabeled.

Cynthia struggled for her response. This was it. Her next words, chosen and rehearsed carefully, were a self-decided death sentence.

"It's my letter of resignation, sir," she said. She drew out a pause. "I would prefer you only choose one."

Oberon Terminus froze. He didn't provide any indication that he heard her speak, or that he had even accepted her into his office to start. He could have willed her to defenestrate herself through the far window for her insubordination.

But once time resumed ticking, he placed his hand on the black envelope and slid it back to her. He leaned back into his chair.

"The world needs Champions," he said before letting out a deep sigh. "You are the finest my company has ever had, and you only confirm your cunning by leveraging it against me. As courtesy to you, I shall play."

He laid the open letter face-up alongside his other documents, leaned into his chair, and stared at the dim ceiling. Clouds had rolled in further outside and Cynthia could barely see him across the desk.

"There is a lesson that rulers of old failed to learn. Do you know what that lesson is, Dr. Masuta?" he asked.

"Sir?" She knew it was rhetorical.

"Their kingdoms fell and their empires shattered because they failed to realize what is quite honestly a very simple principle. The easiest way to retain one's rule is to keep the masses satisfied." A soft laugh erupted from within him, interspersed with a minor cough. He emptied his glass of water.

Cynthia shifted in her seat. The way he casually played off his words, and skirted around her clear defiance, was far more unsettling than a negative reaction. But she had won.

"I shall satisfy the Orran people, as a favor to you," he said. "Just know that it might not be so trivial next time. You're dismissed."

As fast as possible without it being disruptive, Cynthia shot to her feet and bowed at the man, who refused a response and merely returned to his paperwork. She raced for the door. When it slammed behind her, she nearly fainted from the shock

Lance caught her on the way down. He asked, "Did you do what was needed?"

"Barely," Cynthia said as she collected herself. "The divide between Unova and Orre is greater than ever due to Wes's threats. There's so much more work to be done and I don't even know where to start."

"You can start by letting it rest, at least for a short while. There's always tomorrow to set things right."

With one final curtsy to the secretary, they escaped the domain of Oberon Terminus, hoping that they would never have to return.

* * *

Lance may have protested when she detoured for a nice dinner, but he was shut up quite firmly when the five-star courses rolled out. Cynthia wanted them to take their time.

They dined to a breathtaking view of the ocean from on high, the restaurant built into a skyscraper by the city's northwest coast. Their security guarded the entrance to the private dining room at a far corner of the establishment. The quiet atmosphere was soothing and they ate without conversation. The subtle glances and the play in their eyes did most of the talking for them. It was a joyous, if subtle, occasion. They took it slow enough that, nearly an hour into their meal, they weren't through the main course.

The guards parted to let someone pass. She expected the owner of the establishment, who would no doubt pamper them to no end and then use their visit to self-promote among his peers. Instead, Steven Stone cut through the guards and invaded their quiet space.

"Room for another?" he asked. His attire was more reserved than usual—he traded his metal-trimmed purple and gray two-piece for one in black. All black, including the undershirt and tie.

Cynthia held out a hand in invitation, which he held as he sat down in the adjacent chair. "It's wonderful to see you!"

"Your visit is unexpected," said Lance, a bit of dryness in his voice. It was tempered, however, and there was some delight hidden within. He no doubt was glad his peer was safe despite their relationship.

"The board and Hoenn League both insisted I take time off. And receive therapy," Stone added. "I thought it best to come see you since I hadn't the chance before."

A waiter arrived with another round of courses for their new guest. He joined their silent affair, which soon came alight with small talk and jokes among the three of them. They discussed their personal affairs, suggested a few upcoming events to collaborate on, and talked about their inevitable clash at next year's World Trial. The little things. The trivial things. The conversation continued past the meal, a steady supply of light drinks edging them on.

"I've been in and out of a doctor's office for psychological evaluations. They're afraid of post-traumatic stress," said Stone while nursing a glass of wine. "So how has _your_ week been?"

Cynthia shrugged, deciding to omit the encounter earlier that day. "I've been drugged. I vaguely remember a very apologetic call from Alder. And Lance apparently sent a child on a cross-country road trip, among other things."

"Your own?"

"No. He's a friend of my daughter's, and I was returning a favor," her husband explained.

Though he seemed to play it off, Cynthia lingered on her friend's mental health. She couldn't even imagine what his mind was tumbling through. She said, "If you have any… problems because of what happened, I'm here for you."

"Right. Of course," said Stone.

It was late when they finally decided to leave, well past the restaurant's closing, though none of the servers called attention to their imposition. The three of them reached ground level and called for their vehicle escorts. Security kept the gathering crowd of onlookers at bay.

When Cynthia and Lance's tinted ride arrived first, she was forced to say goodbye to Stone. Her husband waited in the backseat to give her a more intimate space with her friend.

"I wanted to say thank you." His voice was soft and flavored by alcohol, though his pitch-black ensemble was still in perfect order.

"You already did. And you're the one who escaped, anyway. I'd still like to know how you managed that," she said.

"Maybe some other time." He lingered, swaying on his feet a bit. Then, suddenly, he pulled her into a tight hug. It didn't feel professional or courteous—it was genuine in every sense of the word. "I meant thank you for… everything. You've always supported me."

She awkwardly wrapped her arms over his shoulder to return the gesture. It filled her chest with a warmth that Terminus had taken away, and he didn't complain about the pendant within her dress that was pressed between them. He clung to her. He wouldn't let go.

"I think we're hugging too long," she eventually said. The crowd of people around were taking in the view.

Stone laughed into her shoulder and let go, quickly turning away. She couldn't see his face, but his chest was trembling. He was crying. "Good night, Cynthia."

Speechless, she climbed into the backseat. Her eyes lingered on his back as he disappeared behind them, standing alone on the street.

Cynthia let herself be swallowed by the pillowy seat, thinking about her friend. She struggled to keep her eyes open for the entire drive, doubly so once they escaped the city lights into the island's countryside. After three days without, all she wanted to do was sleep.

A ringing grabbed her attention. She awkwardly pulled herself out of the soft prison and answered the call on her Pokétch.

" _Hey, Mom!"_ It was Kris. It was at the fourteenth, maybe fifteenth call since she found out Cynthia was hospitalized. It was borderline obsessive, but it made her heart melt.

"Hello, Kris!" said Cynthia.

Lance leaned over to join the call and smiled wide at his daughter. "She's still getting better. You don't need to keep checking in."

" _No, no, no, I'm calling just to say we'll be on our way soon,"_ Kris announced. _"Saber and I have a plane lined up for the Grand Axis, err, really early tomorrow. Most of my professors just said 'go' and kicked me out when I showed up for lectures. They even tossed me out of Advanced Battle Simulation!"_

"We can spend a little time as a family for once," said Lance.

" _You got that right! You two nearly died and had the audacity to play it off. You're taking a vacation or so help me."_

"You sound like a parent."

" _You can't seem to parent yourselves, so guess who has to step up? Me, that's who,"_ said Kris. She ran an exasperated hand through her strawberry blond curls. " _Anyway, we'll be there at the crack of dawn, so see you soon!"_

The call ended and Cynthia could only giggle. Lance wrapped an arm around her back and the two held comfortably against each other for the rest of the ride. The midnight landscape shone under powerful moonlight, leading them finally to home.

As they stumbled into the vacation villa, Cynthia noticed a few things. There was more security stationed around the perimeter than ever before—at least fifteen guards—and cameras hung in the corners of the parlor. Lance had been busy in the past few days, and it wasn't because of the incident in Orre.

Knowing that their hotel had been broken into and that someone skilled enough to infiltrate the International Police was their enemy, they had to stay on guard. Having those glassy eyes on her all hours of the day was disturbing, but Lance persuaded her that their safety was utmost priority. It was their own little fortress. From here, they would begin their new mission, vigilant and watching their backs.

Cynthia nearly fell over onto the couch. Lance took his time to hang up his suit jacket before he joined her.

"Anything you wish to do tonight?" he asked. "It might get noisier once Kris and Saber arrive."

While the implication wasn't lost on her, and she traced a finger lightly along his chest, she quickly pulled herself up to a more respectable posture.

She wasn't going to wait. The encounter in Phenac made clear that Lance could no longer face his burden alone. She said, "Your promise."

Lance nodded, and his expression implied he was truly expecting that answer. He said, "Just know that there's no turning back from this point. I—we—have a duty to fulfill."

Cynthia was prepared. So soon after facing one crisis, she accepted another. As his wife and as a fellow Champion, she was dedicated to lessening his burden.

Her imagination blossomed, uncontained. The vague information he, and the masked man, has spilled told of an incredible story. A treasure hidden ages ago, and somehow connected to archaeological sites still standing. He was the liaison of the past, she the present, and together they would be the future.

"I'm ready," Cynthia declared. She pulled the pendant free from her neckline and clasped it firmly. It was proof of their union, a promise that they would fight as one.

He whispered low. "Very well."

Lance placed his hands together to pray. Cynthia could nearly see his traditional regalia hanging over him as he returned to his role as keeper of the Dragon Clan's secrets. He closed his eyes and she joined him in the gesture.

"If you are ready to defend my secrets as I have vowed, and you are sworn to offer your life, I shall tell you the story of my people," spoke Lance. "They who were once called Draconids."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Story Afterward**
> 
> Phew. This one was tough. As mentioned at the end of my previous story ( _Anew_ ), I tried a new writing format where I wrote most of the story first and then published weekly. It didn't work out exactly as planned, as I hadn't even finished Chapter 4 by the time the first was published, but I still tried my best to finish what I could.
> 
> I think I accomplished my major goals for this story in terms of message. I wanted to highlight how Champions affect people, the nature of their role in the Pokemon world, and why they're needed. Essentially, they feel like heads of state, such as how monarchs in many modern constitutional monarchies are still generally viewed positively by the population even though the world has generally shifted towards democratic governance. Perhaps it wasn't necessary to characterize the Pokemon League as a corporate dictatorship ruled by self-interest, but I'd already set that up some in my previous story.
> 
> I'd like to highlight my beta reader, ShonnaRose, who read, edited, and gave suggestions for every chapter in this story. This was my first time working actively with a beta and it was a transformative experience that definitely helped me improve. I'm also currently beta reading one of her stories, an OC-focused Bleach story that intertwines an original storyline with an alternate perspective on the canon story. Check it out at your page if you're into the series.
> 
> This story was a fun little experiment and I'm glad I could move into something a little more mature and high stakes. I was originally going to do another miniseries as a continuation of my previous story, but it's been pushed back for now. Instead, I'll be working on a 30 chapter direct sequel to both _Stateless_ and _Anew_ to be published once the first five chapters are completed in roughly three months from now. That other story is still coming, and I'll be working on that interspersed.
> 
> For now, thank you for reading, and I'll see you soon.


	6. ?

An unusual chill permeated the late August morning. Kris held her biceps in her hands and tried to warm herself on the tail flame of her Charizard, Zara. She and her brother pushed forward through an endless fog rolling in from the sea. The white purgatory whispered for them to walk forward, promising that the villa was hidden somewhere within.

"You should've told me we'd be walking. I'm not immune to cold like mom," complained Kris, who veered closer to her partner to absorb the body heat.

They had arrived on the Grand Axis a short while ago. It was a tropical archipelago, technically a Region, where the International Pokémon League moved its headquarters from the Indigo Plateau sometime before the Coalition War. The keyword was tropical, yet she was shivering as if she was back in Sinnoh. It being five in the morning probably had something to do with it.

"I would've flown the whole way, but our Pokémon can't navigate with such low visibility. From another point of view, this is just a prime opportunity to exercise!" exclaimed Saber.

He burst out into a soldier's march, leading their small platoon to battle. At his side was his Dragonite, the third and youngest offspring of Dad's main partner. Its soft stomps set a rhythmic pace for Saber to follow.

"Oh, the youthful optimism," she muttered.

The temperature seemed to plummet as the fog swallowed them deeper. Kris's body twitched, and she felt her eyes searching out of habit. They were walking an empty country road and their only sense of forward was the painted pavement beneath their feet and the occasional veiled streetlamp. She knew the area. The house wasn't far off.

Her sight seemed to flicker. She looked back and saw nothing, but it gave her point of reference—lights seemed to dance across the wisps ahead of her. Red and blue fought in the clouds. There was no noise, but they looked like… emergency lights?

A shadow appeared within the white void, the shape of their destination. As well, the lights grew hotter. The fog receded enough to see a wall of police cruisers silently broadcasting their alarm. CPD. Central Police Department. Officers and their Pokémon moved quickly between them and the dark form of the villa, fading and reemerging from the fog.

Kris felt her insides twist. Why were the police crawling around their parents' private vacation residence? They already had so much security on staff. The siblings planted themselves in front of an officer at the barricade. Beyond him, she could see the villa fenced off by yellow tape.

"Excuse me, sir, what's happened here?" Saber asked, forcefully.

The man at first held a cheerless expression, which morphed into minor panic as he looked between the siblings. He stuttered, "Umm, you should probably head back to… wherever you were coming from."

"Excuse you? You know who we are, right?" Kris asked. He must have seen them on TV in tournaments, in tabloids, or literally any half-assed pop culture news site. They were the biggest celebrity family the world over.

"You're Cynthia and Lance's kids," he said flatly.

"Let us through. If there's been some trouble, we should be there to handle it." Saber withdrew his boisterousness for a few moments, addressing the officer in a clear and calm voice. It reminded her of Dad.

More officers emerged from the fog, all whispering amongst themselves. There were Houndoom and Luxray trying to pick up a scent. The sight threw even more questions in Kris's head, some of which she crushed immediately. They were bad thoughts.

The guard stood firm. "I'm sorry, but we can't let you through."

"Not an option," Kris said and pushed past him. He grabbed her arm to stop her. Zara, ever faithful, sparked a fire in the back of her throat and growled, forcing the man to remove his grip.

She ducked under the police tape and approached the quiet villa, where the lights reflected off the dark windows. Saber and his Dragonite followed close behind and they stepped through the open front door. Kris's breathing became increasingly erratic. She'd walked into a crime scene.

Her parents' vacation home crawled with more officers, searching and surveying and collecting across every square centimeter of the parlor. Their private space was infected. A sickening taste of metal hung in the air and coated her drying tongue. Kris stepped unsteady through the villa.

As they were noticed, more feeble attempts were made to stop them. A pair of women blocked their path towards the bedroom hall.

"W-where are my parents?" asked Kris. "They were supposed to be here today."

"Someone get them out of here," ordered one of them, who seemed to be the highest-ranking officer.

" _Where_ are they?" she repeated.

There came no answer. Large men grabbed her and Saber from behind. But Kris couldn't focus on them. The bad thoughts were bubbling to the surface, and all at once, she broke.

She wrenched her arms free, slammed her hands against the two officers ahead, and threw them both halfway across the villa with impressive strength. She rushed past more attempts to restrain her. When she turned the corner, the door to the master bedroom was sealed behind two standing guards. They too were tossed pitifully aside as she grabbed the doorknob.

She hesitated with the metal in her palm. It was Saber at her back, and the shaking hand he placed on her shoulder, that gave her the courage to twist the knob.

Red.

Crimson red.

No one else was in the bedroom, letting her horrified eyes wander from the hardwood floor, to the rolling pool of crimson, to the red-stained sheets of the king-sized bed, to the two motionless bodies resting atop. She couldn't stop herself. Her shoes splattered the pool as she threw herself forward.

"Mom! Dad!" she screamed.

She witnessed the peaceful faces of her parents. She witnessed the identical punctures through their lifeless chests. She witnessed her mother's beautiful hair painted red like her father's. Kris took her mother's freezing hand in her own as the tears began, and refused, to stop.

" _Mom!"_ she shouted. Her voice ran hoarse as it grew louder. " _Dad!"_

Her endless cries, repeating the same two words, echoed through the house, and she knew full well they would never be answered.

But there was nothing more Kris could do but scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To be continued in[Minutes to Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29222802/chapters/71753541).**


End file.
